The Forgotten Things
by WinterSky
Summary: "You will aid the Great One on his rise to power," a psychic named Vivian Ivins told 9-year-old Catalina Pavenic. "But once he is there, you will have a choice. And your life will depend on the decision." [On indefinite hiatus, sorry.]
1. Chapter 1

_Three notes before the adventure begins!_

_1. For those of you who haven't read the later books, or haven't read the books in a while, or haven't read the books at all, fear not! I've provided exposition just for you!_

_2. For those who have read all of the books, please note that this is from 2004*, so I did not include the prequels. After attempting to read the prequels, I'm more than happy to not include them. :P_

_3. Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine._

_That said, enjoy!_

Chapter 1 – The Sixth Trumpet Judgment

Catalina Pavenic was awakened by a flight attendant urgently shaking her arm.

"Excuse me," said the frightened girl, "but I think we're going to die."

"What?" Catalina sat up groggily, trying to take stock of her surroundings. She was a passenger on a Boeing 747 heading from Pittsburgh to Romania. Towards home, or what was left of it. Before she had left for the airport, Mitzi and Brian had hugged her goodbye and insisted that she call them if she needed anything at all. She had arrived early, boarded with little hassle, and nestled comfortably into her seat, thinking how nice it was to have someone else piloting the plane for once.

Now, woken abruptly, the first thing she did was peer out the window, half-expecting to see them plummeting into the Atlantic Ocean. Nothing outside seemed amiss. The sky was bright if a little cloudy. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, dimly noticing that the person behind her seemed to be having a coughing fit.

"I'm sorry," said Catalina, smiling embarrassedly. "Maybe my English isn't as good as I thought. I thought you said we're going to die."

"We are!" The girl wrung her hands. "I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but you're the only one who can help me!"

Fully awake, Catalina became aware that the man behind her wasn't the only one coughing. Most people on the plane seemed to be choking. This didn't make any sense. She was breathing fine, and so was the girl in front of her. She tried not to panic. There had to be an explanation.

"Sit down," said Catalina calmly to the girl, as the plane was starting to rumble. It seemed like mild turbulence, nothing serious. The girl sat down nervously in the seat next to her. She was a tiny blonde with wide eyes, barely eighteen. She couldn't be much older than Catalina had been when she started flying. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Michelle," said the flight attendant.

"Ok, Michelle. Can you tell me what's happening?"

"I don't know," Michelle said. "I looked out the window and there were these horse things in the sky. I thought I was going crazy at first, but then I saw them again, and then everybody started choking."

Horse things? What was she talking about? Catalina glanced out the window, but all she could see were a few puffy clouds and the faded ground far below.

Before she could inquire further, the plane tilted crazily, sending Catalina sprawling against the window.

"La naiba!" swore Catalina. "Is anyone piloting this thing?"

She had meant it rhetorically, but the blond girl burst into tears and shook her head. "The pilots are passed out! I don't know if they're breathing!"

Catalina froze. She knew the men who were piloting this plane. They were good men, both of them. _Oh Lord, why now? _she prayed desperately. _I don't need this today._

"Are they trapped in the cockpit?" she said.

"No, one of them opened the door before he passed out." Michelle sniffled. "I think he was trying to escape the smoke."

_ What smoke? _thought Catalina. Out loud she said, "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll get this plane landed safely. You just do your job and make sure everyone is ok." She stood up and headed towards the cockpit. Michelle tagged after her.

"You can land the plane?" she said in awe.

Catalina bit her lip. She had never landed a 747. She was much more familiar with 737s, comfortable passenger planes that were hardly a third of the size of their gargantuan cousins. But she was not going to mention this to Michelle, who was already nearly crying, or to the passengers, some of whom might not live long enough for tears.

"Of course I can," she said. "Isn't that why you asked for my help? Because I'm a pilot?"

The girl shook her head. "I asked because I saw you were a Believer," she said. "I didn't know you were a pilot. I guess God was looking out for us today."

"Yeah, I guess," Catalina forced a smile. That thought would have been a lot more comforting a week ago.

Catalina made her way to the cockpit. One of the pilots had had the foresight to unlock the cockpit door. He was slumped just on the other side. The other pilot was still in his seat, unconscious. Catalina felt both of their pulses. She hadn't taken a first aide class in years, but she thought she detected a faint beat in each of them.

"Well the good news is, they're both alive," she told Michelle. _I think._ "Whatever it was that was choking them didn't stick around long enough to finish the job."

"It's those horse things," Michelle quivered. "They come in spurts. They breathe out, like, poisonous gas or something. And then they go away."

The horse things again. She looked out the window again, half-expecting to see a brigade of horses snorting yellow mustard gas into the air. Again, though, the sky was empty.

It sounded crazy, but Catalina had seen too many crazy things lately to disbelieve the girl's story. Giant locusts with painful stingers, rivers turning to blood, earthquakes and comets and flaming hail … Well, it was the Apocalypse, what did she expect? Even the mark on her forehead was a reminder of the final cosmic battle that was currently ensuing between Good and Evil. All of God's people had been marked with ashen crosses that could never be washed off, like divinely mandated tattoos. Nonbelievers could not see them, and you could not see your own. You could see others Christians' marks, though, and they could see yours. It was a way of identifying who your allies were in a world where Christianity was becoming increasingly more dangerous. The mark on Catalina's forehead was how Michelle had known what she was.

Incidentally, the prophecies foretold that followers of the Antichrist would one day bear marks on their foreheads as well. No one could bear both marks. When that day came, Christians would be punished for not taking the Antichrist's mark. Catalina had been dreading it for quite some time.

Now, with a plane full of choking passengers and the sky around them possibly teeming with invisible horse things, she wondered if she'd even live that long.

_A/N – __Tune in next Friday to find out if everyone dies! But first R&R! Constructive criticism is welcome, but please be nice. Also, if there are any pilots/aviation buffs out there who would like to beta the next few chapters, I'd be eternally grateful.  
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_*A word of explanation: This is a rewrite of a story I started back in 2004. I was going to post the finished version for the Rapture back on May 21__st__, but the project ended up turning into something much (much much) longer than I anticipated. So I reserved its release for October 21st instead! I'll post a new chapter every Thursday night until the world ends or until I run out of chapters._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N – The word count they give you for summaries is woefully short, so here's the book jacket-length teaser I initially wrote. It will give you a much better idea of what the next 66(ish) chapters have in store:_

**"You will aid the Great One on his rise to power," a psychic named Vivian Ivins told 9-year-old Catalina Pavenic. "But once he is there, you will have a choice. And your life will depend on the decision." Now, almost thirty years later, Catalina thinks she has managed to keep her two worlds—her new life as a Christian in America and her childhood in Romania—far apart. But when she accepts an invitation to the Gala in New Babylon from her childhood friend Nicolae Carpathia, Catalina's two worlds threaten to collide. As she tries to cope with all she has seen since the Rapture, and all she has lost, she discovers that the choice will not be as easy as she once thought…**

_Also thanks to Little Pink Chameleon and Autumnrose2010 for posting and to any other readers who might have been too shy to post! I hope you guys like it!_

_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine.]_

Catalina strapped herself into the cockpit as coolly as if she landed 747s every day. It was just two extra engines, twelve extra wheels, and several hundred thousand extra pounds. How hard could it be?

She tried to ignore the unsteady breathing of the passengers outside the door. She had always prided herself on her focus, for her ability to block out anything that kept her from getting her job done. A plane full of people choking—she would not allow herself to think the word _dying—_qualified as a pretty serious distraction. She focused instead on the controls in front of her.

"If we can land soon," she said to Michelle, though more for her own benefit, "we can get these people out of the cramped cabin and into the open air." She checked the flight path. "How long ago did we leave the airport?"

"Maybe 30 minutes," said Michelle. "The 'fasten seat belt' signs are still up and everything."

"Good," said Catalina. "I'll turn this thing around. We'll be back at the Pittsburgh International Airport before you know it. Or the GC Airport of Pittsburgh, whatever they're calling it these days." A thought occurred to her. "Why don't you try getting the conscious passengers to help you put oxygen masks on the passengers that are unconscious? I don't know how well they'll work against supernatural poison, but it's worth a shot."

Michelle nodded and went back out into the main cabin. Catalina turned her thoughts to the journey ahead of her. She eased the plane into a gradual u-turn, then headed back to the airport. If this sort of thing was happening all over, there might already be medical staff waiting to care for the incoming flights.

Then again, it was just as possible that the sudden destruction had thrown the runways into chaos. She had not been in the air for the Rapture three years ago, but she had heard stories. Passengers screaming as their loved ones vanished before their eyes, harrowed staff trying to keep down riots, pilots disappearing in mid-landing, their planes crashing onto the runway and erupting into flames, killing those inside…

And she had always imagined that the return of Christ would be a happy occasion. Or rather, she had not imagined that there would _be_ a return, or a Christ. That was why she was still here on earth, waiting out the seven year Tribulation with the others who had not believed, while those who had believed had been taken up to heaven in the Rapture. Those left behind had no choice but to watch as the events foretold in the Book of Revelations slowly unfolded before their eyes. They were three and a half years into the Tribulation period, and things were going to get much worse.

She could remember the night of the Rapture, when all of this started. It had been past midnight in America. She and most of her neighbors had been blissfully asleep. It was her sister Valeria, back home in Cluj-Napoca, who had alerted her of the disappearances. Valeria had woken up to find her husband and daughter both missing and was hysterical when Catalina answered the phone. Cat thought her sister had gone crazy. Her disbelief was gradually washed away, though, as she turned on CNN and found Val's story confirmed by millions of people throughout the world whose Christian loved ones had vanished before their eyes.

Her first instinct had been to catch the next flight home, but the airports were closed. For the next few days, then, she had relied on Val for news of home, of who was missing and who was dead.

"How's mom?" was the first thing she'd asked.

"She's fine. She's right here."

"And the Ionescus?"

"They're mostly fine too. Of course, Claudia disappeared. All the children did." Val choked up, as the disappearance of her own daughter was still fresh. "Jon Stonagal is ok too."

She didn't give a damn about Jon Stonagal. "What about Nicolae?"

Val laughed. It was the first happy laugh Catalina had heard since she got the news. "Haven't you been watching the news? He's all over it."

Catalina went back into the TV room. Sure enough, five minutes later, the newscaster was announcing that the young Romanian President had words of comfort to offer the world, and then Nicolae Carpathia appeared, his face solemn but alight with just the right touch of hope. He assured the world that, yes, things may seem terrible now, but if only the world would take this opportunity to come together as one, this terrible tragedy could become a catalyst for peace and brotherhood.

"I know, I can't believe it either," Val said in response to her sister's silence.

"I can," said Catalina. Val was silent, puzzled.

"Mom's saying she just found out Roxana disappeared," she said finally.

"Good riddance," said Catalina.

This phone call had set a pattern for the next three years. When Catalina had decided to stay in America, Val had been her tenuous link to home. Even after Catalina's home in D.C. had been destroyed by the rebel bombings, even after the earthquake had ravaged Cluj, killing her mother, the Ionescus, and almost everyone else, Catalina had survived, and so had Val. From half a world apart, they had come to depend on each other for support, for comfort, for normalcy. To each, the other had been a reminder of a time when some shred of sanity had existed in the world, when they were just two little girls growing up and looking forward to a bright and beautiful future. Val had been Catalina's lifeline, and Catalina had been so excited when Val had announced that she would be moving to Pittsburgh. She had finally gotten all of her papers together. She had just been starting to pack up her things for the move…

And then the accident.

The stupid, senseless accident.

How could that happen? How could God _let_ that hap-

_No._

_ Not now._

_ Focus._

Catalina forced herself back to the present. She had a plane to land. She contacted the tower.

"Tower, this is Pan Con 391," she said. "We've got an emergency situation here. Request permission to land."

"Negative," came the response. "Runways are backed up. We've got crashes on two and four, and the others have incoming planes approaching. You'll have to go around."

"I've got a plane full of people who need serious medical attention," said Catalina. "We need to land now!"

Another voice piped up. "Everyone's in the same boat here, lady. Haven't you been listening in? The poison's everywhere. You'll have to go around, unless you want to try to make it to the GC Airport of Erie. But from what I've heard it's even worse there."

"Roger that. I'll go around," she said, trying not to let desperation overrule her. Michelle poked her head in the cockpit door.

"What's happening?" she said.

"Runways are backed up," said Catalina. "We'll have to wait. How did the oxygen masks work out?"

"Not good. They're not working. And two more people have passed out." She puckered her mouth as though she were about to cry.

"Hey," said Catalina, who was working hard to appear more confident than she felt, "we'll be fine. God will watch out for us." If God was watching out for them the same way he had watched out for Val, that wasn't saying much.

Michelle, at least, seemed comforted. She nodded and returned to the cabin, leaving Catalina alone with her frustration. She focused on keeping the elevation steady as she circled around. Every second felt like time wasted. How many more passengers had stopped breathing since they passed the airport?

After what seemed like ages, she had circled back. She alerted the tower again. If they told her to go around one more time, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to hold it together, but this time to her relief it was affirmative. "You're clear to land on Runway 3. Begin descent."

_Thank God, _she thought. Now focus on the landing. Don't think about the poison creeping in through the airtight windows. Don't listen to the ragged gasps coming from the passengers in the cabin. Just land the plane.

Catalina extended the landing gear and lowered the flaps a notch in preparation. At least the weather was cooperating. At least she wouldn't have to deal with high winds or fog, no external dangers. Just supernatural threats which, like most of the tribulation's disasters, did not seem to affect Christians.

She was nearing the airport now. She lowered the flaps another notch. Almost to solid ground. Almost safe.

That's when she saw them: colossal black creatures with death in their eyes and smoke pouring out from between the layers of sharp teeth. Horses, if you could call them horses. _Horse things._ The creatures hadn't been there a minute ago, but suddenly a whole line of them was bearing down at the defenseless aircraft. Their riders were the size of trees, and were shaped like men but seemed to be made of smoke, smoke that curled around them and licked the sky like tongues of angry serpents. Together, they looked like demons escaped from hell, which was probably what they were. They galloped across the sky, a whole army of creatures, their manhole-sized hooves stirring up the clouds and shaking the air.

They were headed straight for the plane.

_R&R, then tune in next Friday to find out what happens next!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks again to little pink chameleon for reviewing and to everyone else for reading!_

_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it from Left Behind, it's probably mine.]_

Chapter 3 – Silence in New Babylon

New Babylon was quiet. Silent as a schoolyard the day after the Vanishings.

This thought occurred to Sandra, who was typing up a report at the reception desk in front of His Excellency's office. The clack of the keys was the only sound in the still room, each keystroke echoing like a drum off of the marble walls. Light poured through the windows into the reception area, illuminating a few cushioned chairs and sending a rectangle of color across the stone floor. Sandra stared absently at the rectangle of light and wondered if that was a heartless analogy to make, comparing silence to a schoolyard. But it was true, wasn't it? The schoolyards had been dead. No children running in circles, no playing freeze tag or climbing the jungle gyms, just an empty silence while the swingsets and see-saws slowly rusted.

But that was three-and-a-half years ago. The schoolyards were slowly starting to fill up again. Sandra had a two year old son in the Day Care downstairs, and he was growing so fast, already his teachers were saying he was one of the brightest kids in the program. She needed to not be so dramatic. The silence today wasn't really the silence of absence. It was just another quiet day at work.

Through the crack in the door that led into His Excellency's main office, Sandra could see that Nicolae Carpathia was pacing agitatedly, stalking back and forth like a tiger waiting to break out of its cage. If her past experience had been any indication, that meant New Babylon would not be quiet for long. He was thinking hard about something. It would be only a matter of time before she found out what.

Sandra was pleased as anything to be Nicolae Carpathia's administrative assistant. Who wouldn't be? Sure, the hours were long, but the pay was great, and you couldn't ask for better benefits. At this rate, Sandra calculated, she could retire comfortably in ten years. As for her employer, he was… well, he was interesting. Not at all what she had expected coming to work for the most powerful man in the world. Nicolae Carpathia had vision, everyone said. He had brilliance and foresight. He would move the world forward into an unprecedented age of peace and prosperity.

It was partially true. Nicolae Carpathia had a lot of ideas. Most of them were unorthodox, some downright bizarre. And yet, somehow, they always succeeded.

For example, during her first week, he had wanted to hire a man from Hong Kong who was a very successful businessman and had no intention of leaving the niche he had carved out there.

"That will not do," His Excellency had said. "I do not want an employee out in Hong Kong; I want him here. I will simply have to intimidate him. Sandra, I want you to send his wife anonymous flowers."

"What?" said Sandra, who, at the word 'intimidate,' had been bracing herself for something much more frightening. "Intimidate him with flowers? With all due respect, Excellency, I don't think that plan is going to work."

"Do you not?" said His Excellency, amused. "And yet somehow it always does." He flashed her a charming yet dangerous smile. "I will forgive your question because you are new. Send the flowers." She had sent them. Sure enough, the man had arrived at New Babylon within the week.

"It is all about knowing what kind of people you are working with," His Excellency had explained to a dumbfounded Sandra, and she did not question his methods again.

Nicolae Carpathia's idiosyncratic ideas extended to big things too. Three years ago, he had proposed a One World Government. Unthinkable! But it had happened. He had proposed a One World Currency. Impossible! But it too had happened. He had proposed a One World Religion, which five years ago would have seen him booed off the stage at the very idea! But, as with everything else, it had happened. Sandra wasn't sure whether the man was a genius or just very good at pretending to be one.

The phone on Sandra's desk beeped. It was His Excellency. "Sandra, step into my office for a moment," he said crisply. She hoped this wasn't about the report. She was only half-way done with it. She set it aside and hurried into the office. Even on a slow day, she knew better than to keep him waiting.

His Excellency had ceased pacing and was at his desk, writing something that Sandra could not see from where she was standing. He did not acknowledge her at first; after he was finished writing, he looked up.

"Something has recently come to my attention," said Carpathia. "Something the Juddahites believe about their false god. There is a verse, a very short verse, but it appears in two of their gospels, and Tsion Ben Juddah quoted it recently.* Have you been following Ben Juddah's website?"

"No, Excellency," said Sandra. That radical religious website had been banned.

"Well, I have. It is important to keep careful track of one's enemies, is it not?"

Sandra nodded.

"The verse I have discovered is this: 'No prophet is recognized in his own home.'"

He looked up at her expectantly. Was this supposed to mean something to her? If Fortunato were here, Sandra knew he would be able to respond appropriately. As it was, she was completely lost. "That's … very interesting," said Sandra finally.

"Interesting?" He scoffed. "It is pathetic!" He leapt from his seat and began to pace again, even more frantically than before. "If a god cannot be recognized as divine by those who know him best, how can he claim to be a god at all? Should not those who see him everyday—those who have spent countless hours in his presence—be more aware of his divinity than anyone? No, this verse is only one more instance of proof that the Juddahite's god is a sham. And I intend to prove it."

He paused, no doubt waiting for her to ask _how_ he was going to prove it.

"How are you going to prove it, Excellency?" said Sandra.

"As you are probably aware," Carpathia said, "there are many who believe that I may be divine." Sandra nodded. "I will not confirm or deny these rumors. Soon enough the time will come when the answer to that question will be incontrovertible. However," he paused, _"if_ it is true, I believe there are several people still alive who would be able to say so. Who would be qualified to bear witness to what I have done. I would like to bring them here. I want to hear for myself who they say that I am."

He picked up the paper on which he had been writing and handed it to Sandra. She could see now that it was a list of names.

"Find out who among these are still alive," His Excellency instructed, "and invite them to the Gala in three months."

Sandra read through the list. "Just so I'm correct," she said, "these are people from your home? From Romania?" His Excellency nodded. "And you want me to invite them here … so they can see that you are divine?" He nodded again. This still wasn't making much sense. Then again, if Nicolae Carpathia thought of himself as a god, that explained a lot.

If Nicolae Carpathia _was _a god, that explained even more.

"I will get right on that, Excellency," Sandra said. At least it would give her something to do once she finished the report.

She returned to her desk with the list of names just in time to hear the phone ring. She listened to the frantic message for a few seconds before handing it over to Carpathia. "I think you'll want to take this," she said. "It's the Supreme Commander. They've been attacked, and he keeps saying something about sulphur…"

_A/N – Nicolae Carpathia is such a quirky villain! I drew the flowers bit from Tribulation Force, where he decides to scare Rayford into working for him by sending Chloe anonymous flowers (so she'll think she's being stalked). That seems like an odd tactic, and yet Rayford _does_ end up working for him. So whatever Nicolae's technique is, it seems to work._

_Most of the ideas in these pages I'm proud to say are mine, but when a particular idea is drawn heavily from elsewhere, I will try to credit my sources. Thus Sandra's reflection on the missing children was inspired by the brilliant and wonderful Fred Clark over at slacktivist, who pointed out, among other things, that the children are kind of gone. :P_

_Review and tune in next Friday when we return to Catalina and the rampaging horse things! If you're an aviation buff wishing you had some chapters to beta, it's not too late to volunteer your services!_

*Mark 6:4 and Luke 4:24


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to Little Pink Chameleon for reviewing and to everyone else for reading!  
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_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it, it's probably mine.]_

Chapter 4 - The Prophecy

Violent hooves lashed against the sky, stirring up the clouds into a whirlwind of fire and ash.

The horsemen dropped from above, rushing towards Catalina and the 747 full of choking passengers. Catalina knew that Believers had divine protection, but she wasn't sure if that protection extended to the planes that Believers were flying in. She had a feeling it didn't. Even if, by some miracle, the impact of the collision failed to kill them, the horsemen were not exactly unarmed. If their supernatural poison could penetrate the oxygen masks, could their supernatural blades slice through steel?

She wished she knew more about what to expect from this judgment. Right now, anything was possible.

With only seconds to decide what to do, the best course of action seemed to be to angle downwards and pass underneath the attacking horsemen before they reached the plane. The ground below was closer than she liked, but if she timed it right, she could cross under them and skim over the uneven turf without slamming into either. It was risky, but it was better than hitting the horseman head on. At least this way they might have a chance.

The creatures were closing in. She could see frothy whites of the horse's eyes, the foam that flew from their lips, the cruel gleam of the swords in the rider's hands. She dropped the remaining flaps and tilted the nose towards the ground. Ideally she should cut the speed of the plane—cutting back the power would let the plane drop faster—but if she cut back too much they wouldn't make it past the line of horses in time. She slowed as much as she dared. The plane sloped steeply downwards. It would have to be enough.

Maybe if she had been flying a 737, it would have been enough. But too late she realized she had misjudged the force of the larger plane.

It wasn't enough.

The horsemen surrounded them, and then all Catalina could see of the sky around the cockpit were smoke and flame and storm clouds, and somewhere in the air a horse screeched and it was the unearthly wail of a monster about to claim its next victims. Catalina threw her hands up in front of her face to protect herself from the inevitable broken glass of the windshield.

It has been said by those who know that, when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Catalina was not about to die, and so she did not get a flash of her whole life; but since she was closer to death than she had ever been, she got a very detailed flash of one memory.

She was a small child, back on a farm just outside of Cluj-Napoca. She knew that farm well. She had spent many happy afternoons with her two best friends playing in the pasture behind the stables. Of course, today the pasture and the stables were gone, destroyed in the earthquake that took half of Cluj-Napoca with it. But this memory was so vivid she could almost believe it was still there, just as it had been that day when she young. She could actually see the patterns the sun cast on the kitchen table. Through the open windows, she could hear dragonflies buzzing lazily in the summer air.

A friend of her parents, Miss Vivian Ivins, had the contents of her purse spilled out over the table and was busily searching for her car keys. Nine year old Catalina peered curiously over the edge of the table. Her eyes fell on a pack of cards.

"Miss Ivins, what's that?" she asked, extending a hand over the tabletop and pointing.

Vivian, having just located the missing car keys, looked down to see what Catalina was pointing at. She smiled indulgently at the child's curiosity. "Those are Tarot cards, Cati," she said. "They're for telling fortunes."

"Oh," said Catalina. "Like the future?"

Miss Ivins nodded.

"My birthday is next week," said Catalina. "I want a puppy. Can they tell me what kind of puppy I'm getting?

"That's not quite how they work, dear," said Miss Ivins. She picked up the pack and opened it. "Would you like me to show you?"

Catalina nodded. Miss Ivins cleared the table of the contents from her purse and instructed Catalina to sit down. She sat down primly, Miss Ivins sitting across from her. Very solemnly, the dark-haired woman shuffled the deck and laid it out on the table. She stared at it for a long time. Then her eyes widened in mild surprise.

"Unexpected," Miss Ivins murmured. When she spoke, it was with the air of someone reciting a passage from a well-cherished book. "You will aid the Great One on his rise to power," she said. "But once he is there, you will have a choice. And your life will depend on the decision." She paused, letting the weight of her words hang in the air.

"Huh," said Catalina, disappointed. This had nothing to do with her puppy.

"It is strange. This one," said Vivian, lost in thought as she examined the cards, "could mean life, but it could also mean soul…"

For a few minutes they sat in silence, Miss Ivins studying the cards, Catalina swinging her feet. Then Catalina piped up. "Can I go outside, Miss Ivins?"

"Mm? Yes, of course dear," said Miss Ivins. She folded the deck up and put it away. "Nicolae is already out with the horses." Catalina hopped down from her chair and skipped away.

The flash of memory vanished.

The entire rank of horsemen vanished too, evaporating in a whiff of smoke. The smoke curled itself into a gray cloud that obscured visibility. In the cockpit, Catalina remained on edge, scanning the smoke, alert for anything that may come flying at them from out of the gray abyss.

Nothing.

The cloud of smoke began to clear. Blue sky appeared in the distance, and only then did Catalina exhale. Of course. Of course when she was expecting a terrible crash, they would just disappear. It was only when you least expected it, when everything seemed fine and you were completely unprepared, that terrible things occurred.

As if to confirm that last thought, the smoke vanished completely. In her anxiety over the impending attack, Catalina had forgotten that they were still descending at roughly 160 knots.

She could see the ground rising up rapidly to meet them, and they were going much too fast to land.

_A/N – Sorry to keep hitting you over the head with cliff hangers. Flying the plane was only supposed to take two chapters, but I had to split them into four because with the exposition they were getting uberlong. Next chapter you find out what happens, I promise! _

_Having pointed out that I didn't include the prequels, I'll admit to borrowing a few details that I liked. Vivian's ability to read tarot cards was one, and, later on, young Nicolae gets a cool black horse. I will probably add a few more as I continue to edit._

_Review and tune in again next Friday!_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks again everyone for reading! _

_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it, it's probably mine.]  
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Chapter 5 - Nu Inteleg

No. NO. They were NOT going to die today!

The cockpit door swung open, and Michelle, propelled by the steep angle of the plane, practically rolled back into the cockpit.

"What's going on?" she wailed.

"Grab onto something!" ordered Catalina. All 600,000 pounds of metal groaned as she turned the power up to full blast and forced the nose towards the sky. With maybe a hundred feet between the plane and the ground, it began to rise. They narrowly missed scraping a grove of pine trees. She was pretty sure that if she had lowered the landing gear, it would have caught on the branches.

When she hit an elevation of 2000 feet, she leveled the plane off again. Catalina was shaking, breathing hard, but she was pretty sure it was over. They were safe. Michelle let go of the cockpit doorway, which she had been gripping for dear life. The entire misadventure had taken less than a minute.

"Pan Con 391, what the hell was that stunt all about?" snapped the Tower over the radio.

"Horsemen," said Catalina weakly. "A whole army of them."

"Holy—" The voice paused, softened. "Are you ok? Can you still land?"

'Yes," said Catalina. Everything appeared to be in working order. "Please. The sooner the better."

The landing turned out to be the easy part. They cruised onto the runway, landing a little to the left, thought Catalina, but no one was going to criticize her for that just now. An ambulance was waiting nearby to tend to the injured passengers. Catalina watched as the emergency staff loaded unconscious passengers onto gurneys. They bandaged the wounds of anyone who had been tossed around by the sudden pitches and supplied ice packs for their bruises.

About a fifth of the passengers were past help. The EMTs covered them with sheets and moved on. Catalina winced. She felt like it was her fault, somehow, even though she couldn't think of anything more she could have done. She wanted to help, but her knowledge of first aid was minimal. She had done her part in landing the plane, and now all she could do was observe.

For the first time, she had a chance to sit down and think about what happened. The horsemen—had they been about to attack? Had something stopped them? Had God stopped them? Or maybe they were never going to attack to begin with. Maybe they were insubstantial. Maybe all they could do was scare her into crashing—which had almost worked.

So many maybes. Catalina felt like she was going crazy. If Michelle hadn't reported seeing them too, she would have believed that the horsemen were nothing more than a delusion brought on by grief or lack of sleep.

And where had that memory come from?

It wasn't as though it were something entirely forgotten that had come rushing dramatically back. That might have made a little more sense. But she had not forgotten it—at least, if someone had said, "Remember when Vivian told your fortune?" she would have been able to recall the moment quite clearly. On the other hand, it wasn't a moment that crossed her mind very often. The farm was long gone, and, according to Val, Vivian Ivins had disappeared with it. As for Nicolae … well, she preferred not to think about what had become of Nicolae. So what was it about today that had brought that afternoon so vividly to the surface of her thoughts?

Michelle appeared at her side.

"Are you ok?" Catalina asked her.

Michelle nodded. "I think God spared us today," she said.

"I think you're right," said Catalina tiredly.

"Will you pray with me?" Michelle said.

The last thing that Catalina wanted to do right now was pray. God had not exactly been kind to her over the past week. But maybe it was times like these when she needed prayer the most. She nodded.

Michelle bowed her head and clasped her hands. "Dear Jesus," she said ardently, "thank you for sparing our lives today. And thank you for using us to give all of the Unbelievers on the plane a second chance. I pray that they will witness your mercy and kindness and be inspired to commit their lives to you. In Your Most Holy Name, Amen." She looked up at Catalina, eyes shining expectantly, no doubt waiting for her to praise Jesus for all of the good things He had given them this day. Catalina looked at the row of white sheets lining the tarmac. She swallowed.

"Dear Jesus," she started. She stopped. Words of praise wouldn't come.

"Dear Jesus," she said again, "I thank you for…" Catalina searched for more words, but none came.

"Jesus," she said a third time, "_Nu înţeleg._"

_I don't understand._

Michelle looked at her, puzzled.

"It's a Romanian prayer," Catalina said. This was sort of true. The words were Romanian, and she was praying them.

Michelle nodded. "Amen," she said.

"Amen," said Catalina.

Behind them, an employee announced that shuttles would be running from the airport to the nearest accessible bus station. Anyone who lived nearby would be welcome to take one. Catalina caught the first shuttle out. She hated leaving Michelle and the other passengers without knowing whether they could get home. But sometimes you could only see so much.

By the time she made it back to her apartment it was dark, and Catalina was exhausted. The adrenaline that had sustained her for most of the day had worn off. She wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed.

Her roommate, Mitzi, was asleep on the couch, a well-worn copy of _Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies_ still clutched in her hand. Mitzi was Catalina's closest friend. She was an American librarian with neon green hair who spent most of the day reading about zombies, vampires, werewolves, and anything else that bites. She worked for the GC Library of Pittsburgh, which had been rebuilt after the earthquake but never restocked; therefore half of the shelves were empty, and Mitzi was always complaining that all of the good books had been swallowed by the earth's crust.

Between her taste in books and the bright green bangs that obscured the mark on her forehead, most people were surprised to find out that Mitzi was a Christian. She certainly didn't fit the typical description of a Christian, that was for sure, and Cat had asked her about that early into their friendship.

"Why should I have to conform to their standards?" Mitzi had said. "As long as I'm conforming to God's. And besides, I have a rule for myself. For each page of vampire stories I read, I have to read a page of the New Testament. For werewolves, I have to read the Old Testament."

"By that logic, how many times have you read the Bible?"

Mitzi had grinned. "You don't want to know."

Now, when Cat stumbled in, Mitzi, awakened by the noise, opened one sleepy eye. "Oh, hey Cat," she mumbled, rolling over. A few second passed. Mitzi bolted up abruptly.

"Cat! What are you doing home? I thought you'd be halfway to Romania by now!"

"I thought so too." Catalina grimaced. "I guess God had other plans." Mitzi looked puzzled. "The horsemen?" No response. "Mitz! Flying horsemen! Sulfur! People dying of … of … what's the English word for choking to death?"

"Asphyxiation?"

"Yes, people dying of asphyxiation! Haven't you turned on the news at all?"

Mitzi's eyes widened. "It was my day off. I've been here with Brian all day!" Brian was Mitzi's boyfriend, a mild-mannered computer geek who lived two floors below them and spent his free time watching zombie movies. Between him and Mitzi, their knowledge of monsters was encyclopedic.

Mitzi pulled out her cell phone, alarmed. "He can't have left more than a few minutes ago. I hope he made it back to his room ok!" As if on cue, the cell phone buzzed in her hand. Mitiz put it to her ear. "Brian! … Yeah, I heard, the sixth trumpet judgement! … I'm fine … no, I haven't turned on the news, but Cat's home … I don't know, I didn't get a chance to ask her." She moved the phone away from her mouth. "Are you ok?" she asked Cat.

"I'm fine," said Cat.

"She's fine too," said Mitzi into the phone. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow." She flipped her phone shut. "Tomorrow we're watching a documentary on the filming of Dracula," she explained to Cat, "and then Dracula. And then that one German movie that was a rip-off of Dracula."

"You're a pair of hopeless nerds," said Catalina.

"Why let the Apocalypse interfere with that?" said Mitzi cheerfully.

Cat laughed. At least something in her life was still normal. Hearing Mitzi and Brian obsess over imaginary monsters was always oddly comforting—it was something so ordinary, so _pre-Rapture_. You could almost imagine that all the monsters were imaginary.

Almost.

"Cat, what are you doing home?" said Mitzi again. "Are you sure you're ok?"

Catalina shook her head and gave her a brief synopsis of what happened on the plane. Mitzi's face grew pale beneath her bright green hair.

"That's terrible. Thank God you were there, but …" She exhaled slowly. Sometimes words just weren't enough. "Are you going to catch the next flight out?" she said.

Catalina shook her head. "The airports are a mess. Everything's a mess. There's no way I'll make it out there anytime soon."

"You'll miss Val's funeral," said Mitzi.

Cat bit her lip and didn't say anything.

"I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head again. "It's been a long day. I don't want to talk about it. I really just want to go to bed."

"Ok," Mitzi closed her book and switched on the news. "But Cat? I think you should go as soon as you can. Even if you miss the funeral, it will help to be around family and friends who knew Val, you know?"

"There's no one to visit. Val was all the family I had left." There was a lump in Cat's throat the size of Romania. "Cluj isn't even home anymore. It's just the name of the city where I used to live. My house, my school, they all burned to the ground a long time ago. It's just as well I'm not going back."

On the TV screen, a GC reporter appeared and announced that in a few minutes His Excellency would be appearing live to offer his condolences to the world for all of the loss they had suffered that day. Cat snorted derisively. "Oh for the love of God, turn off that _cacat_." She trudged across the living room to her open bedroom door. "If Nicolae Carpathia wanted to offer me his condolences, he could do it in person." She made to slam the door behind her, but it caught on the carpet and swung shut with an anticlimactic creak.

_A/N - I've tried to stay as close as possible to Tim LaHaye's system of morality in this story, even the things I disagree with. I don't think he'd approve of green hair or zombie movies, though, would he? Hm._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N – Happy Thanksgiving! [It's still Thanksgiving in some time zones, right?] This year I am especially thankful, because I just received my acceptance letter for grad school. Yes, starting in January, yours truly is going for her MLIS so she can become a librarian and dye her hair green! Or blue! Probably blue. But you get the idea._

_I'm issuing a challenge. If I can get a total of 100 reviews for this story, I'll post an extra chapter that day. Right now I have 5 reviews, but I'll make it easy. You don't even have to say anything constructive. You can just say, "Hi," or "You suck," or "This is amazing, and you're definitely the next J.K. Rowling!" BUT I don't want one person posting 100 times in a row. Only one review per person per chapter. So if you want that extra chapter soon, get your friends to read and comment!  
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_Thanks again everyone for reading and thanks autumnrose2010 for commenting on zombies! _

_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it, it's probably mine.]_

Chapter 6 – Chaos in New Babylon

New Babylon was chaos. No trace of the quiet that had pervaded it that morning.

Phones were ringing off the hook with PR executives wanting to know what they should tell the public, angry officials demanding to know what was going on, and scared civilians asking if their family members at New Babylon had been harmed by the terrorist attacks (which had quickly emerged as the official explanation for the poison). Sandra hoped her son was alright downstairs. GC employees had been given strict orders not to leave their posts, but she had at least been allowed to call the Day Care. The teacher had assured her that none of the children had been hurt. Thank gods.

The Supreme Commander had called at least five times, and Sandra could hear His Excellency in his office barking orders into the phone. To make matters worse, Peter Matthews, the head of the Enigma Babylon One World Faith, would not stop calling, cluttering up the already busy lines with his demands that the Potentate stop avoiding him. Sandra had finally curtly informed him that EBOWF's concerns would have to wait—His Excellency was not avoiding him but was extremely busy trying to contain the terrorist attacks.

Of course, at the time Carpathia had been behind his desk lazily instructing Sandra that if Peter Matthews was on the line, tell that imbecile that he was extremely busy trying to contain the terrorist attacks.

But it was no lie, really. His Excellency had to be everywhere at once today. In addition to averting whatever crisis the Supreme Commander had gotten himself into—apparently there had been some sort of ambush during his trip to Africa—Carpathia had to meet with the world's top scientists, who were anxiously trying to determine the source of the poison, and all of the subpotentates, who were already arguing loudly over which of their countries needed the most aid. He also had to appear on TV to give an international speech encouraging the world not to lose hope in these dark and troubled times. He announced that the GC had not yet determined who was behind the terrorist attacks, but the Juddahites were suspected.

That was bull, thought Sandra. They had no reason to suspect the Juddahites over anybody else. The problem was, though, that they _had _nobody to suspect. There was no pattern to the attacks. They were hitting every nation indiscriminately. In some places, entire buildings full of people had been asphyxiated; other had been completed unaffected. A person walking down the sidewalk might have suddenly collapsed, but the people walking beside him or her had remained unharmed. It was baffling.

With all of the confusion over the terrorist attacks, it was a few days before Sandra remembered the list of names that His Excellency had given her. When the frantic phone calls finally started to wind down, she brought up GCoogle and typed each name into the search engine. Finding them was quick work; most of the names popped up on a list of people who were deceased or missing since the Great Earthquake.

There were two exceptions. One was a woman living in Italy, and the other worked for an airline in the United States.

Sandra knocked on the door to His Excellency's office. Then she nudged it open and poked her head inside. Carpathia was at his desk, reading a report from the GC Counter-Terrorism Committee.

"I wonder if I could get the Juddahites classified as a terrorist organization," he mused. "It would make things so much simpler." He set the report on the desk and peered at her through cool blue eyes, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers. "Can I help you, Sandra?"

"I have the contact information you asked for. You gave me a list of people from your home that you wanted to invite to the Gala." She crossed the room and set the print-outs on his desk. "Almost all of them were killed in the earthquake. I'm so sorry."

"Hm, yes," he said absently. "That is tragic." He took the paper she handed him and read over it approvingly. "Vivian Ivins is still living in Italy, I see. And Catalina Pavenic." He smiled. "This should be interesting." He thrust the paper back at her. "Make sure both of these people receive invitations. And get the Supreme Commander in here. I have some ideas for the Counter-Terrorism Committee that I want to run by him."

Sandra paused. "Catalina Pavenic," she repeated thoughtfully. She thought she had recognized that name when she first saw it, and now she was sure she had heard it somewhere. "Why do I know that name?"

He had already moved onto something else. "I do not pay you to ask questions," he said, impatiently flipping through another report. "I pay you to get things done."

"Yes, Excellency," said Sandra. "I'll get right on that." She turned away from him so he couldn't see her as she rolled her eyes. Things were back to normal, it seemed. She started towards the door.

"Sandra," he said smoothly, "you know I appreciate all the work that you do here."

She turned back around, surprised. "I know," she said.

"Do you? Good." His smile held just a hint of a threat. "Do not roll your eyes at me again."

"S-sorry, Excellency," she said. He waved a hand and casually dismissed her. Sandra hurried away to do her job.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N - Thanks again to all of my wonderful readers for being here! If you're new to TFT, please review and let me know if I should quit my day job to become the next J.K. Rowling or if I should, you know, keep the day job. :P  
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_Post 95 more reviews, and I'll post a bonus chapter!_

_[Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you don't recognize it, it's probably mine.]  
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Chapter 7 – Life-Changing Things

For the next few days, there were road crews cleaning up the streets. Hospital workers had their hands full. Since the airports were temporarily closed, Catalina spent the week with Mitzi, and Brian, who had raised a group of volunteers to help with some of the clean up. After about a week, the roads were clear, and most of the victims had been released from the hospital. Things seemed to return to normal.

How quickly destruction becomes normal, thought Catalina.

It was her last day off before the airports were to reopen. She picked up the mail on her way back from her morning Starbucks trip. The GC may not have cared much for libraries, but it seemed they spared no expense to get a Starbucks back on every corner. _And thank God for that_, thought Catalina, sipping on a piping hot espresso as she started up the stairs. She had been a coffee fanatic ever since she had moved to America twelve years ago. She wasn't sure what she would do without it. And she knew that once the mark of the beast was made mandatory for all buying and selling, getting Starbucks coffee was going to be a lot trickier.

Upstairs, Catalina unlocked the door to her apartment to find Mitzi and Brian in the middle of a heated debate over something on the computer screen. Brian was sitting at the keyboard while Mitzi yelled over his shoulder.

"That's such crap! Todd Browning was the director of _Dracula_! Not _Nosferatu!_"

"I'm just showing you what's on the movie database," said Brian helplessly.

"GC websites are crap! You can't even get a decent vampire movie history anym—Oh, hey Cat," Mitzi grinned sheepishly.

"Hi, Mitz," said Cat, closing the door behind her. "Hi, Brian. Don't let me disturb your important life-changing discussion." She went into the kitchen to sort the mail.

"Ooh, speaking of life-changing things…" Mitzi pulled a collection tin out from underneath the couch. She leaned over the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room and rattled it in Catalina's direction. "The library is taking up a collection to help pay medical expenses for people who were affected by the sulphur but can't afford their hospital bills."

Catalina pulled a couple of Nicks out of her pocket and slipped them into the tin. "The library has gotten very charitable recently," she commented.

"Yeah, well," said Mitzi philosophically, "you can't take up collections through the church anymore, can you? People assume we're gonna use the money to crucify babies or something. Meanwhile, the library is a perfectly GC approved institution. So," she rattled the tin can again and grinned, "it's the _library_ that's collecting." Then she seemed to remember that she was in the middle of an argument, and she whirled back to Brian and the computer.

"Right," Mitzi started again, "what I was saying is, if the GC creeps in charge of the internet can't even bother to get little facts like who directed what movie straight, how can we expect them to tell us the truth about anything real…"

Cat laughed and began to sort absent-mindedly through her mail as Mitzi and Brian went on about how bad the GC was at keeping their facts straight. As if anyone was surprised by that anymore. Suddenly, her attention shifted to the envelope in front of her. She froze. The seal was unmistakable. She held it up to the light, checking its validity. It glittered officially in the sun.

She had said that if Nicolae Carpathia wanted to offer his condolences, he could do it in person. She had never actually expected to hear from him again.

"Cat?" said Brian. "You ok over there?"

"Fine," Cat smiled quickly.

She didn't want to open the letter with Brian and Mitzi around. She stacked a few bills on top of it to obscure the GC logo, then headed casually back to her room.

She shut the door and sat on her bed, turning the unopened envelope in her hands. She could not bring herself to look inside. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just a … a commendation. Or maybe it was a bill of some sort. Or something of her father's, several years overdue. _But from the Palace itself?_ Those explanations were too flimsy.

She remembered the last time she had seen Nicolae. It had been at her father's funeral just over three years ago. Just before the Rapture. Nicolae had seated himself in the back of the cathedral, his face solemn and respectful. At one point during the service, she had looked back at him. Their eyes met, and his seemed to say, _I know how you feel, and I am so sorry, _and she had turned back to the front of the church, consoled by his presence.

After the service, he had approached her.

"I cannot tell you how shocked I am," Nicolae said. "Emil Pavenic was like a father to me."

"He would have been glad to hear you say that," she said. "You know he loved you like a son." She wiped a tear from her eye with her left hand.

"I know." He noticed the engagement ring on her finger. "So the rumors are true?" He held out his hand, expecting her to show him the ring; she proffered it obediently. Even now his touch went through her like an electric shock.

"The rumors have been true for over a year now," she said with a sad smile.

"Ah," he said, and he released her hand. "I will save my congratulations for a happier occasion. For now, please pass on my condolences to your family." And with a polite nod, he had moved on. There had been a long line of important people waiting to speak with Catalina and her family, and, though she had wanted to speak more with him, she had to make time for all of them. Some of them were her father's friends and colleagues who came to pay their respects, but many she knew just wanted to be able to say they had been important enough to attend Emil Pavenic's funeral. He had been the an influential senator and one of the wealthiest men in Romania. Even Joshua Todd-Cothran and Jonathan Stonagal had attended—though Catalina doubted her father would consider that to be much of an honor. Emil hated being compared in any way to Stonagal, who, he insisted, was a liar and a crook, and who gave a bad name to honest, hard-working businessmen. And Todd Cothran, as far as he was concerned, had been worse. Nicolae Carpathia was the only thing the three men ever agreed upon and the only reason Emil had—grudgingly—agreed to work with them.

Catalina shook her head. That seemed lifetimes ago. Before the Tribulation, before the Rapture, before Jonathon Stonagal shocked the world by killing himself and Todd Cothran at a UN conference, and before she discovered that Nicolae Carpathia was the sworn enemy of the God she now worshipped. Anything that this envelope contained would likely be a remnant from another world, a world full of forgotten things, echoes of a life that no longer existed.

And so she clung to it for just a little while longer. Maybe she wouldn't open it. Maybe she would save it, hide it under her bed, keep a piece of that world frozen safely away, outside of the influence of time.

But she had to know. She removed a letter opener from her desk drawer. Then she sliced open the envelope and read what was inside.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N – Apologies for the late post. Posting will resume as usual on Thursday. The usual disclaimer applies. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

Chapter 8 - The Whole Story

The invitation was typed on a pearly white page and trimmed in what appeared to be real gold. A little golden RSVP card fluttered out of the envelope and landed at Cat's feet. Blazoned in curly letters, the words glittered up at her from the floor: "Attending: Check Yes or No." Cat bit her lip as she scanned the page in her hands. It would seem so innocuous, even cheerful, if she didn't consider the source.

Somewhere along Cat's tenth reread, Mitzi barged in.

"Ugh, GC websites are hopeless!" she complained, flopping onto Cat's bed. "The sooner Jesus comes back, the better. _He_ would know a good monster movie if he saw one!"

"Jesus didn't watch movies," Cat pointed out.

"Well, no, not when He was on Earth," Mitzi said. "But think about it. If you do nothing but sit on a throne for a couple of millennia, you're bound to get pretty bored. I bet He's seen all of them."

"In three and a half years, you'll find out."

"Good point. I'll ask Him when I see Him," Mitzi said, shrugging as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. These days maybe it was. "So anyway, Brian's off to work, and I was going to pick us up some subs unless you feel inclined to cook.

"Subs are fine," said Cat. "I'm so not in the mood for cooking."

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"You don't seem ok."

Cat hesitated, but this sort of thing would be hard—and potentially dangerous—to hide. "I got a letter from the Palace."

Mitzi inhaled sharply. "You in trouble?"

"I wish."

She tossed the letter onto Mitzi's lap. Mitzi picked it up and read the first few sentences out loud.

"His Excellency, on behalf of the Global Community, requests your presence at the Gala Celebration in Jerusalem. Transportation, as well as room and board, will be provided for all guests." Her eyes scanned the rest of the page, which, Cat knew by now, contained mostly formalities about how honored they would be by her presence should she accept, etc., etc.

"Wow," said Mitzi when she had finished. She handed the paper back to Cat. "That's pretty crazy. You should frame it and hang it on your wall."

"This is serious, Mitz!"

"How serious? I think you're being over-dramatic. They were probably just being polite inviting you, you know, since Carpathia knew your father. If you don't respond, it's not like they'll notice."

"Nicolae will notice," said Cat.

Mitzi blew a pink bubblegum bubble and let it pop.

"Ok," she said abruptly, "you know I don't usually pry, but what's the _thing _with you and Carpathia?" Cat opened her mouth to give the usual answer, but Mitzi cut her off. "I know, I know, he worked with your father. But you don't act like he's someone you barely know."

Cat was taken aback. "How do I act?"

"Other than the fact that you still call him 'Nicolae?' I don't know. It's like you take everything we say about him personally. For example, if I try to point out the simple fact that he's a no-good, lying, cheating, demonic scumbag who deserves to rot in hell forever, you bristle."

"What is 'bristle?'"

"You clench your fists and glare at me. Like that."

Cat unclenched her fists and fixed her face into a more neutral expression.

"You see what I mean, though," said Mitzi. "You defend him."

"I don't defend him."

"Cat," Mitzi gave her a pained look. "Remember when Carpathia threatened to kill the two witnesses on live TV? And Me and Brian were freaking out? And then you said—and I quote—'Nicolae would never really do that. He's not that kind of person.'"

"He's _not _that kind of person," Cat insisted. Then she groaned. "Ok, maybe he is by now. I don't know. I haven't seen him in years. It's just, you didn't know him. You never heard him _talk. _He talked about peace because he believed in it. He wasn't just one of those politicians that said what he thought people wanted to hear. He was the most sincere person I ever met. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's a monster now, but he wasn't always."

She fussed with the paper in her hands, curling it into a cylinder and uncurling it again. "Did I ever tell you," she said, knowing full well she hadn't, "that meeting Nicolae was one of my earliest memories?"

"One of your earliest…? How old were you?"

"Seven."

"Seven?"

"Our parents were friends," said Cat. "That's how he came to work with my father. But I knew him long before that."

"Geez." Mitzi tugged her bangs back from her forehead. It was something she did when she was stressed. "You might have told me this. I was under the impression that you only met him after he joined the Senate."

"House of Deputies."

"Whatever."

"Look," said Cat, "it's an uncomfortable subject for me. Can you imagine the reactions I'd get from our church if they knew I'd grown up with the Antichrist? I'd never hear the end of it. I've already spent enough time sharing his spotlight—enough to know that I don't want to be in it anymore." Mitzi frowned but looked like she was at least considering what Cat was saying. "Really, Mitz, if I'd thought it was anything to be worried about, I would have told you. This is the first I've heard from him in years. I thought he thought I was dead."

Mitzi sighed and tugged at her hair again. "Ok, so I just found out my best friend used to be BFFs with Antichrist. You know what? That's not any weirder than anything else that's happened in the past three years." She crossed her legs Indian-style and settled in on Cat's bed. "So … spill the beans! I want to know everything! What was he like?"

Cat could have hugged Mitzi for being so calm about this. Maybe when you watched enough monster movies, the real monsters got easier to accept.

"Not what you'd expect," said Cat. "He never acted like the spawn of Satan or anything. He was good in school, never got in trouble. He was always going on about peace, even as a kid. But when he talked, you knew it wasn't just words. You knew he was actually going to do it. Nicolae succeeded at everything he tried, no matter how crazy it seemed." For a second she forgot the gravity of the subject she was discussing and grinned fondly at a memory. "You know, as kids, no matter what game we played, he always won. When we played in teams, everyone wanted to be on his team. But no one could hate him for winning all the time because he was so humble about it."

"Wouldn't it suck to be on the other team, knowing you were going to lose?" said Mitzi.

"Oh!" The smile vanished from Cat's face. "I don't know. I was always on his team."

"Weren't you special."

"Yeah," said Cat. She _had_ been special. But she hadn't been that special for a long time. And, anyway, it wasn't the kind of special she wanted to be anymore.

Mitzi popped another bubble and peeled a wad of pink bubblegum off the tip of her nose. "So back up a second. What's the story? How did you meet him?"

"Our parents were friends. The Carpathias moved to my neighborhood when I was seven."

"And you guys attended the same Black Masses or what?"

"Black Masses?" Cat guffawed. "You really _have _been reading too many books! Our moms met at the grocery store."

"How undramatic," said Mitzi, grinning. "But it's as good a start as any."

Lucy Pavenic had met Adriana Carpathia shortly after the Carpathia family had moved to Cluj-Napoca from Italy. Theirs was a friendship that would blossom quickly and end too soon. Upon discovering that Ardriana was new in town, and that they had children the same age, Lucy had insisted on inviting the Carpathias to their house for dinner that Sunday.

Catalina could clearly remember that night. Her mother had been running around frantically all day, complaining about how was she supposed to scrounge together enough food to feed their guests with the food shortages as bad as they were? Emil had responded with a detached patience that it had been _her _idea to have guests in the first place, and she'd have to figure out how to feed them. Of course, Lucy's gripes were exaggerated. Even before the Revolution, the Pavenics had been wealthy enough that food shortages were more of a mild inconvenience than a real problem. By the time the Carpathias arrived, Cati's mother had a full meal steaming on the table, and the air was filled with mouth-watering scents of mashed potatoes and _mititei_, tiny grilled sausages that were Lucy's specialty.

Nicolae had walked in the front door ahead of his parents. He was an amiable little boy with a cherubic smile, and even at seven he could charm a room full of people. He immediately went up to Cati's parents and shook their hands, saying brightly, "Hello, my name is Nicolae," and flashing that smile that she would grow to love. He shook Cati's hand too. Her parents thought he was adorable. Cati was confused as to why she was being asked to shake hands with someone her own age.

After dinner she, Nicolae, and little Val had been shunted off to the other room to play while the grownups talked about grown-up things. Catalina did not remember much of these days, having been so young, but she knew that for a brief span, this became a tradition. The Carpathias would visit each Sunday, and after dinner she and Val would be sent into the playroom with Nicolae while the grown-ups relaxed and helped themselves to wine and _gogosi_.

She and Nicolae had gotten along well, even been enrolled in the same class once school started. Despite the political turmoil that was shaking the adult world, to seven-year-old Catalina, those had been carefree days.

"They didn't last long though," she explained to Mitzi after a brief synopsis of the story. "When his parents died in the riots that winter, Nicolae moved away to live with an aunt on the outskirts of Cluj. My parents were really heartbroken by the death of the Carpathias, so they tried to stay in Nicolae's life. When he got older, my dad took him under his wing and got him involved in politics. In high school…" Cat swallowed. How to even talk about high school? "In high school, we ran in the same circles. Then during college, he went to Oxford, I came to America, and after I moved back to Cluj-Napoca I rarely saw him, except through his work with my father. I did do some work on his campaign—I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but at the time I had no idea!" She sighed. "The last time I had any sort of conversation with him was just before he won the election. I told him I was taking a job in D.C., and we wished each other good luck." It was the things she hadn't said that stood out most in that conversation. "Since then, the only time I've really seen him was at my father's funeral."

"Wow," said Mitzi. She had her face in her hands, listening in rapt attention like a child hearing a bedtime story. "So that's the whole story, is it? I always wondered."

Catalina hesitated. Technically, she had told Mitzi everything important, and yet the things she'd skimmed over could fill a twelve-book series. Catalina had not even mentioned Paul Ionescu, how she and Nicolae had met him, how he had died far too young. She had not mentioned the Christmas parties her father had thrown, with all the top European families in attendance, where Nicolae had first met Jonathan Stonagal. And she had said nothing about Vivian Ivins, Nicolae's aunt and a skilled psychic who had made the prophecy that would soon come to pass…

But suddenly Catalina didn't want to go on. Memories of Nicolae were tried up intrinsically with her past and with Val, Val who was gone from her life forever, and she didn't want to talk about any of it. So she nodded. "End of story," she said. "That was it."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N – Thanks to everyone for reading! The usual disclaimer applies. _

_In one of life's odd little coincidences, this week marks the 22__nd__ anniversary of the Timisoara protests. I really hope this chapter isn't insensitive to that. I can say that, in researching for this story, I've gained a greater appreciation for the risks these people took. By standing up for their rights, they fought not only for Romania but to make the world a better and freer place, and for that they have my gratitude._

_Ok, I'll shut up now. Enjoy the story!_

Chapter 9 – The Death of Something

One of the things that she had not told Mitzi was that she had been there the day Nicolae's parents had died. She hadn't been with them when they had died—no one knew exactly _when_ they had died—but she had been with him when he received the news.

The Carpathias had gone to Timisoara for a political rally. Cati was long used to hearing complaints about the current government issuing from the other room on Sundays, usually increasing to a louder volume after the adults had had one too many glasses of wine. It was something that both the Carpathias and the Pavenics could agree on; but, unlike Cati's parents, who suffered their lot in silence, Adriana and Manuel Carpathia had decided to do something about the food shortages and other outrages that had been growing steadily worse. They had been attending recent protests around the country.

Sometimes Nicolae, who did not get to accompany his parents on these trips, would try to explain to Cati what was going on in the country. She didn't have the grasp of political nuances that he did, but he told her that if the president was kicked out, there would be more cartoons on TV, and she liked cartoons. During this particular trip, Nicolae was sent to stay with Miss Vivian Ivins, another family friend, until his parents returned in time for Christmas. Cati had watched them wave goodbye to Nicolae and promise to bring him back a gift.

The morning it happened, she had been in history class. Catalina remembered that because they were coloring in maps of Europe that had each country labeled in black ink. Nicolae complained that this work was for babies; _he_ already knew all of the countries in the world and their capitals. The teacher, who was used to Nicolae's complaints about the work being too easy, told him to sit down and color anyway. Nicolae grumbled but sat down. He was long done with the assignment by the time a knock sounded at the door, and Miss Ivins stood in the doorway looking very pale and asking to see him. The principal of the school was standing there with her. The class could tell that whatever it was, it was serious.

Nicolae appeared nonchalant as he stood up and left the room. Cati, who had the seat next to the door, could not contain her curiosity. She jumped up and skirted out of the room.

"Miss Ivins, what's going on?" she demanded, to the annoyance of the principal who told her sternly to return to her seat.

"It's all right," Miss Ivins said quietly, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Her parents will no doubt want to see her. I have their permission to take her home. And it will help to have a friend nearby…" She trailed off. They walked down to the office. Cati tugged at Nicolae's sleeve.

"What's going on?" she said. "Why are we going home?"

"I don't know," said Nicolae. Standing next to him, she could see that he was not as relaxed as he had appeared from a distance. He looked a little afraid.

In the front office, Cati hung back with the principal while Vivian sat Nicolae down.

"I'm afraid I have some very sad news for you," she said carefully. "There was a… well, an accident… in Timisoara. Your parents were hurt." Cati could tell that she was trying not to cry. It scared her, seeing a grownup try not to cry. "They were killed," said Vivian, very gently. "I'm sorry, dear."

Nicolae was quiet. "I don't believe you," he said finally. He stood up abruptly and walked over to where the principal was standing with Cati.

"I am going to use the phone," Nicolae announced. "I am calling my parents at the hotel."

Said Vivian gently, "You don't know the hotel's num-"

"I have it memorized," Nicolae said impatiently.

Nobody stopped him. He picked up the phone and dialed. The room was so quiet that Cati could hear the faint rings on the other end of the line. He let it ring and ring. The stillness in the room seemed to swell, like a bubble about to pop. And then, finally, a faint message: 'This number had been disconnected.' Then silence.

That silence did what Vivian's words could not. Nicolae's blue eyes grew wide. There comes a moment in each life when you recognize the fragility of existence, how easily all that you hold dear can be swiped away by a twist of fate or a thoughtless accident. Sometimes you wake up, and the only things you thought you could depend on forever are gone. You learn that there is nothing you can depend on and no one who will be there forever. For most, that moment comes when they have been on this earth much longer than seven years. Nicolae had not been so lucky.

An expression of inconsolable loss fleeted across his young face. Nicolae squeezed his eyes shut. For one jarring second, something shifted in the air. A chilling wind—not even a wind but something more subtle, like a breath—blew across the room. Nicolae opened his eyes again, and Cati would swear that she saw something die in them, some spark had gone out that would never be reignited. Then whatever she had seen was gone. Maybe she had only imagined the whole thing. Yes, she was sure she had imagined it.

Nicolae replaced the phone on the hook.

"Am I going back to your house, Vivian?" he said calmly.

Vivian nodded.

"Then let us go."

On the car ride home, Cati tried to console him. She was an expert at death ever since her gold fish had died two months ago.

"Being dead," she said to Nicolae, echoing the words her mother had said to her on that day, "means that they're in heaven with God."

"I hope not!" said Nicolae. "Why would they want to be there?"

"Nicolae," chastised Vivian from the driver's seat, "you don't say things like that!"

"But Aunt Viv, you said-"

"Hush!" said Vivian sternly. "Cati, I'm dropping you off at home. I'm sure your parents will want to talk to you…"

She didn't see much of Nicolae in the next few weeks. She saw him at the funeral, sitting in the front row next to Vivian. Everyone commented on how brave he was. He didn't cry at all. Only once, Cati saw him sigh deeply, the sigh of a person much older than seven. For the rest of the service, he stared straight forward and paid close attention to everything that was said. Cati didn't get a chance to talk to Nicolae that day, but when she saw him again at school, everything seemed fine. He was his usual charming, vivacious self. If anything, he seemed to shine brighter.

She wasn't sure why she never told Mitzi or Brian about this. Or about high school. Or the reason she had left Romania more than a decade ago. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her past. It wasn't that she didn't think they would understand; she knew they would.

It's just that sometimes it's nice to have your secrets.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N - I hope you all had a wonderful and blessed Christmas! I checked my email and saw that a few people had added TFT to their story alerts, so thank you! I definitely squealed a bit over that. Also, thanks xSilentDawnx and Myrkin for the complimentary reviews. I never thought Nicky seemed all that evil either. I hope you like how the story progresses.  
><em>

_The usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter 10 - Trib Force

Over a lunch of ham and cheese subs from the shop down the street, Mitzi regaled Cat with a story about a kid she'd seen at work. Cat listened half-heartedly, sipping a mochachino, her eyes occasionally flitting back to the invitation that she had laid on the edge of the table.

"So this kid comes up to the front desk," Mitzi was saying, "and he can't be older than twelve. Twelve! I wanted to be like, 'Kid, what were you _doing _as a nine year old that you missed the Rapture?'"

"Probably selling drugs or something," said Cat absently. "So do you think New Babylon screens their guests?"

"What?"

"Do you think they'll have to question us before they let us in? I'm pretty sure I could pose as a dutiful GC citizen for two weeks, but I might be in trouble if they have someone standing at the door asking, 'Are you a Christian?'"

Mitzi had been in the process of reaching for a potato chip. Her hand froze inches from the bag. "You're not seriously thinking of going?"

"I'm seriously thinking of going," said Catalina.

"_Why?"_

There were many reasons why, and not all of them made sense. Catalina went with the most obvious one.

"You can't turn down a personal invitation from the ruler of the world," she said. "It would just look suspicious."

"Ben-Judah did," said Mitzi.

"And look what happened to him," said Catalina. Tsion Ben-Judah was a renowned spiritual teacher whose family had died under highly suspicious circumstances.

"But _you_ said that was done without Carpathia's knowledge," said Mitzi with an ironic smile. Cat glared at her.

"It _was _done without his knowledge. What would be the _point_ of promising protection to someone's family and then deliberately killing them?"

"Mm-hm," said Mitzi skeptically.

"No, really!" insisted Catalina. "It doesn't make sense politically! It's not like he's been in control long enough to get away with something like that. Look, he needed to establish some sort of credibility first, or how could he have gained enough of the world's trust to consolidate his power? It makes more sense that an opponent killed the Ben-Judahs and then blamed it on him."

Mitzi stared at her. "Geez, you sound like a conspiracy theorist," she said.

"More like an anti-conspiracy theorist," said Cat, grimacing. "No conspiracy theorist would miss an opportunity to pounce on the One World Government." She was familiar with most of the theories surrounding Nicolae's unprecedented rise to prominence. Even with the GC censoring the media, the rumors were hard to avoid. Most of them were (to Catalina's relief) more or less insane. Nicolae Carpathia had allied with extra-terrestrials to cause the Vanishings. Nicolae Carpathia was secretly hiding Jonathon Stonagal in a bunker under Antarctica. Nicolae Carpathia had bombed the East Coast and blamed it on the American rebels. Seriously, there were too many stories to keep track of them all. "I'm sticking by what I said," Catalina insisted. "Nicolae didn't do it."

"Mm-hm." Mitzi shook her head and took a bite of her sub.

"Anyway, you could ask him yourself," said Cat. "The invitation says Catalina Pavenic _Plus One_."

She looked at Mitzi expectantly.

"Oh no!" said Mitzi, a look of horror on her face. "No, no, no! I am not joining you on a road trip to Antichrist's personal party! Why would you expect me to do something crazy like that?"

"Because you're my friend, and I'm asking you nicely?"

"No."

"Because I know you'll do nothing else for two weeks but sit around the apartment watching True Blood."

"Hey!" said Mitzi indignantly. "The whole 'no buying and selling thing' applies to Netflix too! I have to take advantage of watching True Blood while I still can!"

"Ugh," Cat rolled her eyes. "Fine." She pulled out her phone and began to text.

Mitzi watched her skeptically. "What are you doing now?"

"Inviting Brian."

"He won't go. He's not crazy either."

"Can't hurt," said Cat. She hit send and waited. Seconds later, both of their phones buzzed.

Mitzi pulled out her phone. She frowned. "Brian texted me, but the text makes no sense. What does yours say?"

Cat read out loud. "He says, 'That's a great idea. Just like the Twlight saga.'"

Mitzi laughed. "Oh, that makes more sense. Mine says, 'Tell Cat what I think of the Twilight saga.' He thinks it's complete crap," she added, as if Cat hadn't gotten the implication.

"You're both awful!" groaned Cat, reluctantly shoving her cell back into her pocket. "Fine then! If you aren't coming with me, I'll just go by myself."

"You'll go alone?" Mitzi raised a green eyebrow. "Do you think that's smart? Don't you think this might be 'The Choice' you were telling me about."

Catalina, in her telling of the previous week's adventure, had mentioned the memory only in the vaguest sense. She had said that she remembered a psychic prophesying that she would have a choice to make, that her life would depend on it, and that the moment was coming up soon. She had left out altogether the identity of the psychic and the bit about 'aiding the Great One on his rise to power.' There were some things she still wasn't comfortable talking about.

"It's not the choice," said Catalina.

"How do you know?" said Mitzi, skeptical again.

"Because." Cat thought for a moment. "You know how, when it comes to God, you can sort of sense Him? You know He's there, but you don't know _how_ you know He's there?"

Mitzi nodded.

"It's like that," said Catalina. "I don't know how I know. I just know. This isn't the choice."

"It will be dangerous." Mitzi bit her lip and tugged at her bangs. Cat could tell she was against the idea, but it wasn't her style to say so outright. Instead, she ventured a half-joke. "Only the Trib Force has made it into the Antichrist's lair and back alive!" she said, adopting an over-dramatic movie announcer voice.

Catalina laughed. Mitzi would have made a very poor movie announcer. "Well, maybe I'll call them up," she said, "and ask how they did it."

She was being facetious. You couldn't just call up the Tribulation Force, not anymore. The coalition had achieved a somewhat mythical status in the eyes of Christians around the world. They were a group of Believers who had dedicated themselves to opposing Antichrist at all costs. Every Christian knew their names, but very few knew their whereabouts.

The group was led by Rayford Steele, who had been Nicolae's personal pilot until it was discovered that he was using his position to spy on the Global Community Headquarters. Cat had met Rayford a few times through her work at Pan Con. Another claim to fame, as if she needed one. Rayford's son-in-law, Buck Williams, had been an international reporter. Like Rayford, he had initially worked for Nicolae, but he had given up that position in order to spread the truth about God and about the End Times.

Chloe Steele-Williams, Rayford's daughter and Buck's wife, had single-handedly formed a coop that would allow Christians to exchange goods with one another long after the mark of the beast made buying and selling within the global economy impossible. Catalina had donated a significant portion of her inheritance to the coop when she first converted. She had never met Mrs. Steele-Williams personally, but she still kept in touch with a few coop members who weren't dead or in hiding. You never knew when you would need to make a quick get-away, and it was good to have a network for when that day came.

The most important member of the Trib Force, though, was Tsion Ben-Judah, the scholar whose spiritual blog had brought millions to God. He had studied the Book of Revelations in detail and could predict more or less specifically which disaster would strike next. His interpretation was not perfect—for example, he had predicted that the horseman would not be visible, and, Catalina remembered with a shudder, they had been very visible—but in most cases his predictions were spot on. Ben-Judah was the foremost spiritual authority on earth. The GC would give anything to get their hands on him. Or on any Trib Force member, for that matter.

Rumor had it that they still had spies somewhere in the GC headquarters, but Catalina did not trust rumors. She knew that she was probably going to be the only Christian in New Babylon. She knew there would be dangers. But, she told herself, this was something she had to do.

"It's only ten days," Cat said coolly. "I'll be safe for ten days."

"If you say so," said Mitzi. "It's between you and God."

Cat bit her lip. She wasn't so sure God would approve of this little jaunt. But it _would_ seem suspicious if she didn't go. And the fact was, she had not seen Nicolae since she had found out what he was. She had seen his face on every news station, heard his name praised on every street and criticized in every church meeting. But somehow the truth of his assurgency had never seemed quite real to her. She wanted to see him in person, to see what he was for herself. She knew she only had three months before he was assassinated—Tsion Ben-Judah had been quite clear on that. The Gala would be the obvious opportunity, and likely the last.

"I'm going," said Catalina firmly. She took out her pen and checked 'Yes' on the gold-trimmed card.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, check off Plus One then!" Mitzi said, exasperated. "But if we get killed in New Babylon, the first thing I'm doing when we get to heaven is kicking your butt!"


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N - Thanks again all for reading__! The usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter 11 - Giving Your Heart to God

Having resolved to go to the Gala, Catalina lay in bed that night and mulled over her decision. She hadn't been sleeping much since Val died. She flopped over onto her right side and watched a set of headlights slide over the bedroom wall. She wondered if God would be upset with her for putting herself straight in the path of Antichrist.

"But even Christians need closure," she said out loud. "And it's just ten days."

God, in His usual cryptic fashion, said nothing.

Catalina flopped onto her left side and sighed. She supposed that, in a way, a relationship with God was like a relationship with any other person. For the first few months, it was something new and exciting. You walked with an extra spring in your step, basking in the glow, in the discovery of new love and affection. It seemed as though all your questions about life were answered, all your problems paled in comparison with the knowledge that all would be ok. You were forgiven. Chosen. Loved. It was a love that warmed you from the inside out, a light that you carried with you always.

And then?

Time passed. God's all-consuming love didn't seem so all-consuming anymore. It seemed to dwindle, or perhaps you just got used to it. You adjusted to the feeling of having God in your life all the time, to the point where it wasn't something special or unusual anymore. It was just what was.

Christians were born again, they said. Given New Life. No one mentioned that your New Life would require constantly struggling against your old one. The problems that you thought you had left in your past began to creep back in. Questions that you thought had been answered only gave rise to new questions.

Catalina had first encountered God when she was sixteen. Her parents, like most in her home country, had been Romanian Orthodox, to the extent that they attended church on Christmas and Easter. They went to a local church, a richly decorated building with gold trim on the pillars and intricate murals on the walls. The murals would start out a dull grey before dawn but would burst into shining color as the rising sun crept over them. It was Catalina's favorite part of going to church, watching as the walls slowly brightened to reveal scenes full of glorious miracles.

One Easter, Catalina left her handbag in the pew. The church was only a few blocks from her neighborhood, in walking distance if you cut across some back roads, which she did. By the time she reached the church, it was late afternoon. The services were over, and the lights were out, but the door was unlocked and she slipped in through the back.

Not all encounters with God are grand and dramatic. In fact, God is most often found in the small, seemingly insignificant moments. Such was the case with Catalina. Having retrieved her purse from under the pew, she straightened up and found herself standing right in front of a mosaic showing Jesus in the act of healing the sick. The afternoon sunlight had fallen right across His face, on which the artist had perfectly captured the expression of love and compassion towards those He was healing. A hush seemed to fall over the church. It was a quiet she had never felt in the pomp and circumstance of the service. She had heard that the church was a space in which God was present, but this was the first time she had ever thought it might be true.

After that day, she started going back to the church on occasion. Sometimes she just sat. Sometimes she prayed to a God whose name she didn't quite know. If anyone had asked her what she felt, she wouldn't have quite been able to say. A feeling of peace maybe. Or the sense of being surrounded—if only for the moment—by something greater than herself. She wasn't really sure who or what God was, wasn't even sure whether what she was feeling was God, but she found comfort there.

She'd go in the evening, once services were over, once the room was still. Sometimes the old priest, Father Enescu, who worked on his sermons in the back room, would hobble by, ask how she was and if there was anything she needed. She responded politely, said she was fine and she was just thinking, and she hoped she wasn't intruding, and he smiled kindly and said that the church's doors were always open to anyone who wanted to come inside and think, or come inside and not think, as the case may be. She talked to Father Enescu a bit whenever she visited. He was a genuinely devout old man who had been with this church for almost fifty years and had a reputation for being strict but kind. He had tufts of white hair that stuck out from behind his ears; his hands always trembled slightly, shaking as he held the pages that contained next week's sermon and causing them to crinkle.

Catalina would talk to him about God or just about life. After some time had passed, she confessed that she was starting to feel like God wanted something more from her, but she didn't really know what.

"Ah," said Father Enescu. "It sounds like God is tugging at your heart." Catalina thought that description sounded about right. It felt like a tug, gentle but insistence, pulling her towards something deeper.

"What do I do about it?" she said.

"You could try giving it to Him."

"What, my heart?" She was alarmed. "That sounds like an awfully big commitment. What if He tells me to give up flying and go, like, feed orphans or something. I don't want to have to give up flying!"

Father Enescu held up a hand. "Calm yourself, child. God reveals His will in His own time. But if you're worried, perhaps you would like to learn a little more about Him first. Have you read the Bible?"

"Not really," said Catalina.

He suggested that she start with the Gospel of John, then go back to the beginning of the New Testament and read it through. Catalina read all four Gospels. Instead of moving on, she read them again. She liked Jesus, and she liked his mission.

"Pray for your persecutors," He said.

"Those who live by the sword perish by the sword," He said.

"Love your neighbor as yourself," He said.

Sometimes he reminded her a little bit of Nicolae.

In fact, it was Nicolae that convinced her to stop going to the church. She didn't make a habit of telling people that was where she went to think, but she had mentioned it to him. He seemed surprised, which was unusual. Not much surprised him.

"I did not think you were religious," he had said, giving her a disapproving look.

She turned red. "I'm not. I just like thinking about it, is all."

Nicolae became concerned. Whenever he did, a crease would appear in his forehead just below the fringe of his tousled blond hair. She thought it was adorable. It was one of those things that the TV cameras never caught, but she would always know it was there.

"Religion has been the cause of almost every war in history," he said. When he grew impassioned, he spoke with an almost musical cadence. Listening to Nicolae speak was like feeling the first rain drops on your skin after a long drought. "Christianity especially," he went on lyrically, "leaves a long and bloody trail in its wake. It has inspired numerous persecutions, murders, even mass genocide. The Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, and the Salem Witch Trials are only fraction of the atrocities to which Christianity can lay claim. Not to mention more recent events like the religious wars in Ireland and Yugoslavia! Cati, I would hate to see you get caught up in something like that!"

He put a hand on her arm protectively. Nicolae's touch was real, while this whole God tugging on her heart business seemed like a flimsy daydream.

"I won't get caught up," she said quickly. "I won't even go back. Promise."

Nicolae had smiled. "I think that is a very responsible choice," he'd said.

Catalina would swear, even today in the midst of the Tribulation, even knowing what Nicolae was, that his intentions had been good. His intentions had always been good. That didn't make any sense, and she knew it. This far into the Tribulation, there was no other candidate for the position of Antichrist. But she had always assumed that the Antichrist would be someone more, well, evil. Not an idealist full of good intentions, even if his ideals were a little unorthodox. She assumed that he would soon be corrupted by power, if he wasn't already, and then he would deserve whatever comeuppance he got. Still, she felt that it was unfair. Did it _have_ to be Nicolae who was thrust into the role of Antichrist? Couldn't God have chosen anyone else?

Regardless, back then she had stopped going to the church. She had stopped reading the Bible. She hadn't wanted to disappoint Nicolae. After her last Easter service, Father Enescu said hello to her family and mentioned that he hadn't seen her in a while. She mumbled something about being busy with school.

The old priest nodded. "God understands that sometimes concerns of this world demand our full attention. But His doors are always open for whenever you want to return."

"Thanks," said Cati gratefully. The eyes of her family were on her, so she quickly followed them out the door.

That was the summer she left for flight school in America. While she was gone, Father Enescu passed away. The priest who took his place thought it was irresponsible to leave the church open for hours after the services were over. Catalina returned after a year to find the doors locked and bolted.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N – Definitely had to check urban dictionary to make sure that jee-coogle isn't already a word with some horrible meaning. It isn't, although I did discover several interesting things that you can do with a Jacuzzi. Fun times, urban dictionary. Fun times.  
><em>

_Disclaimer: If you recognize it from Left Behind, it's not mine. If you recognize it from Good Omens, it's also not mine. Otherwise, it's probably mine._

Chapter 12 - Packing

The evening before the trip found Catalina sitting at the kitchen table, scanning the GC itinerary and sipping her usual coffee. She had taken the day off to prepare, but, as years of flying had taught her how to pack up quickly and lightly, she was done by midmorning. She had spent the next few hours pacing anxiously around the apartment, biting her nails and dropping things. She had rarely been this antsy. Even Brian called her out on it.

"Geez, Cat," he'd said when she spilled her second cup of coffee. "You're usually the calm one. I thought Mitzi was the spastic one."

"I heard that!" shouted Mitzi from the bedroom. Unlike Catalina, she was on her third well-stuffed suitcase and still nowhere near done.

"Ooh, you're in trouble now," Cat said to Brian.

"Very true!" came Mitzi's voice.

Brian shrugged. "I'm always in trouble."

"Also true!" said Mitzi.

Catalina had finished mopping up the coffee with napkins and decided then that the best way to calm down would be to stay seated and read something to distract herself. She'd poured herself another cup of coffee and flipped open the gold-trimmed pamphlet that served as a schedule for the next ten days. Tomorrow morning, Wednesday, they would arrive in New Babylon to spend a few days at the Palace. On Saturday, they'd fly from New Babylon to Jerusalem, and the actual Gala celebration in Jerusalem would begin on Sunday and last the week.

Cat hadn't wanted anyone from Pittsburgh to know that they were going, but Mitzi had pointed out that it was kind of hard to avoid, given the TV cameras that would be everywhere. The plan, they had decided, would be to tell their friends that they had managed an invite from Nicolae's personal pilot, who Catalina had supposedly met through a mutual acquaintance. Brian was the only person who knew otherwise.

"It's kind of true," Cat had insisted. "He worked with Captain Steele. I worked with Captain Steele. We're practically best buds."

"This story is completely full of holes," Mitzi had said. "Have you met the guy? Do you even know his name?"

"McCullum something or other," Cat had said. "I'll GCoogle it."

"Because we all know how reliable _jee-coogle _is," Brian had added.

The name GCoogle had been invented shortly after the GC had taken control of the internet, coined by some higher-up employee who no doubt thought themselves clever. It had proven a nightmare to pronounce. Most people just left out the C, pronouncing it "google" like it had been before the Rapture. _Jee-coogle _was a name used only as a mockery, a small but satisfying way of protesting the global government's needless interference in things that had been working just fine before it got involved.

Cat read a few articles about Nicolae's airline staff, enough to pass as an acquaintance if anyone at church bothered to check her story. She hoped she would get a chance to meet them in person in New Babylon, if only because she was eager to get a peak at the Phoenix 216. The plane was supposed to be the epitome of advancement when it came to luxury aircrafts … and since there wouldn't be much more time for advancement before the end of the world, the latest design was probably going to be the last. It saddened her a little to know that the Phoenix 216 would probably be destroyed in the final battle. If nothing else, she planned to sneak off to the airplane hangar between events so she could see it.

Events. There were lots of events on the itinerary. A few were "highly recommended" (mandatory, in other words) such as the dinner Thursday night that would officially welcome the ten subpotentates to New Babylon. There was a somewhat mysterious event at the wailing wall on Tuesday morning that was simply labeled "Discussion." Other than that, most of them were optional. They were designed to show off the palace and keep the VIPs entertained.

Catalina picked up a pen and began circling the events in the itinerary that interested her. She crossed out the ones that appeared to require "indulgence in pleasures of the flesh," which, the way the ads were pushing it, seemed to be the Gala's unspoken theme. The phrase was an actual quote from the informational letter she had received several weeks ago, a letter consisting half of useful information and half of not-so-subtle hints that whatever happens in Jerusalem stays in Jerusalem. It seemed an odd way to advertise an official government event, but many of her nonbelieving friends seemed thrilled with the idea and lamented the fact that they couldn't attend. She supposed it made sense for them. Throughout the Tribulation, the world had tried to go on with life as usual, rebuilding their cities, returning to their jobs, as if little had changed. But the truth was that many people were scrimping to get by, desperately clinging to what resources they had before the next disaster destroyed them. Indulgence of even the most innocent kind was a rare luxury.

Cat lifted her pen to circle an air show, one that was being advertised between a notice for a Chinese Massage parlor and an ad for Madam Tracy's psychic readings, when she dropped her pen on the floor. She leaned over to pick up the pen, knocked the napkin holder to the ground with her elbow, and let out a string of rather explicit Romanian curses.

Mitzi appeared in the doorway, a folded t-shirt in one hand and a pair of chopsticks holding a Californa roll in the other. "Geez, Cat, Brian's right. You're usually the calm one. You sure you want to go?"

"I'll be fine once I'm there," said Cat, retrieving the scattered napkins. "I just hate the anticipation."

"Pssh," said Mitzi, with an exaggerated dismissive wave. "You just need to eat something. Sushi?" She held up the California roll.

"Not a fish person," said Catalina, growing queasy at the sight of it. "You're eating sushi and packing at the same time? No wonder it's taking you so long."

"That's not why it's taking me so long," Mitzi insisted. "I'm a qualified multi-tasker!" She turned and tossed the California roll at the open suitcase, simultaneously attempting to take a bite out of the t-shirt. Cat and Brian immediately choked back laughter.

"Well, a multi-tasker anyway," Mitzi said, scowling and shutting the door.

"Just be ready by tomorrow morning!" called Cat between bouts of escaped laughter. "Or I'm leaving and taking the sushi with me!"


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N – Officially started grad school this week! I will do my very best to keep up with the weekly posts throughout the semester. _

_The usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter 13 – A Familiar Face

The next morning, Mitzi was stranded on the couch, sick with food poisoning.

"Freaking sushi!" she grumbled through the thermometer that was sticking out from under her tongue. "I'm never eating raw fish again!"

"Are you sure it was the sushi?" Cat asked. "It might have been from eating that t-shirt."

The thermometer started to beep, and Mitzi pulled it out from her mouth. "Ha ha," she said to Cat. "You're a real rio-" She stopped, grabbed a garbage bag, and was sick again. Cat winced.

Mitzi dabbed gingerly at her mouth with a towel, then flopped back against her pillow. "I feel like a plague of locusts is attacking my spleen," she groaned.

"Can't be," said Cat. "We already had the plague of locusts."

Mitzi cracked a grin. "I'm sure your BFF would love it if I showed up to New Babylon like this."

"He's not my BFF," said Cat, switching from sympathy to irritation and back to sympathy in a matter of seconds. "Wait here. I'll grab another garbage bag from the kitchen."

On the way back from the kitchen, she called Brian, who was at the door in a matter of minutes, carrying what looked like an entire medicine cabinet in his arms.

"You came all the way here at six am!" gushed Mitzi from her place on the couch. "That's why you're my favorite boyfriend!"

"Her other boyfriend won't be here until seven," added Cat.

"Don't worry," said Brian, "I'll be gone long before seven. I have to visit my other girlfriend."

"You're both hilarious," said Mitzi drily. "If you keep being this funny, I might puke again."

"Only joking, Mitz," said Brian. "You know you're the only girl for me." He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Catalina laughed and shook her head. They were so good for each other. Sometimes watching them be sickeningly cute, even in the middle of the apocalypse, was inspiring. Other times, it reminded her of what she didn't have.

"Speaking of leaving by seven," said Brian, "don't you have a plane to catch, Cat?"

She looked down at Mitzi's pale face. "Do you need me to stay?"

"No, I'll be fine. It's probably a twenty-four hour thing. You go to New Babylon tonight, and I'll catch up with you in Jerusalem on Saturday. Don't miss your flight."

"Are you sure?" said Cat.

"Of course I'm not sure!" said Mitzi irritably. "I don't want you to go alone. But you've been looking forward to this thing, and I'm not going to keep you here just because I have a tummy ache." She brightened. "You can say hi to the First Horseman of the Apocalypse for me."

"Ok." Cat donned her coat and grabbed her solitary suitcase. "As long as you promise to stay away from the Fourth Horseman while I'm gone."

"For goodness' sake, Cat! I'm not that sick. And I've got this lump to look out for me," she added, patting Brian's arm affectionately.

Brian began to protest that he was not a lump. Cat laughed as she bid them both goodbye. "I'll pray for you, Mitz," she said on her way out the door. "Do try not to die."

"Likewise," said Mitzi with a sickly smile. "Try not to get yourself killed."

The flight to New Babylon took fifteen hours, including a brief layover in Kuwait. Despite the precariousness of the situation, Catalina really _was_ looking forward to the week. Sure, she would have to tread carefully. But it was going to be a major event in the history of the world, not to mention in Biblical history. It was the midpoint of the Tribulation. According to Tsion Ben-Judah, it would mark the death and resurrection of the Antichrist. A large part of her was sorry that Mitzi wasn't going to be there to offer moral support while she said goodbye to whatever was left of the Nicolae she'd known.

A very small part of her was relieved.

As the plane approached New Babylon, Catalina started to wonder if Mitzi's food poisoning were a sign from God. Maybe she was supposed to stay home. Maybe she was in terrible danger. Maybe she _was _going to get them all killed!

Or maybe she should stop reading God's hand into situations that had a perfectly rational explanation.

The plane docked, and the passengers began to depart. Catalina was greeted at the gate by a familiar face, but it was not the one she expected. Wearing a crisp, powder blue suit, flanked by two GC guards, stood Vivian Ivins.

"Miss Ivins!" cried Catalina, her worries momentarily forgotten. She waved to the older woman, who beckoned her over.

"My, it's good to see you, Cati," said Vivian Ivians warmly. "Look how grown up you are. I can hardly believe it."

"I can't believe it at all!" Catalina shook her head. "I thought you were… when the earthquake hit Cluj and the farm was destroyed…"

The farm from Catalina's memory had been Vivian's. Vivian had inherited it, along with a significant chunk of money, from family somewhere. She used the land to board a stable full of beautiful horses, but it was clear to Catalina that she had no interest in horses and saw the operation purely from a business perspective. Nicolae, though, loved the horses, and Catalina, on the weekends that her parents sent her over to Vivian's for the afternoon, would often find him in the stables, brushing the horses or sneaking them bits of carrots behind Viv's back.

The barn and the stables had been sources of entertainment, full of nooks and corners where small children could play unspotted. She and Nicolae—and, some time later, Paul Ionescu—had spent hours doing just that.

Sometimes they would play that Nicolae was the President, Catalina his Vice President, and they were trying to evade international terrorists, which they had to do by jumping from one hay bale to another without touching the ground.

Sometimes they played that Nicolae was the President and Catalina was an international terrorist, trying to catch him, and they'd run and run in circles until she was out of breath. She never caught him.

And sometimes they'd play that Nicolae was the President, Catalina was the pilot of his fighter jet, and the horses were terrorists that had to be shot down. That game was Catalina's favorite, because she got to be a pilot, but Nicolae didn't like it as much because he complained that she got to do most of the shooting.

Nicolae was usually satisfied with whatever game they played, though, as long as he got to be the president.

The farm, the stables, and the house had been destroyed when the earthquake hit Cluj-Napoca. Valeria had told her. Catalina had assumed that Vivian had gone with them.

"No, the quake missed me," explained Vivian. She and their escorts led Catalina to the airport's exit. The doors slid open to reveal a limo waiting out front. "I was in Italy at the time, and I ended up staying. There was nothing to return to. This is ours, dear," added Vivian, pointing to the limo. She gestured for Catalina to climb in first. Cat sat down and sunk into the plush leather seat. It was elegant but comfortable. Vivian climbed in beside her and waved for the driver to go.

"The farm was destroyed," Vivian went on. "It was a tough time financially, but it helps to have friends in high places. As you can see here." She smiled as she gestured around the interior of the limo, but her face fell again. "So many memories were lost when I lost the farm. I can still remember you and Nicolae and little Paul Ionescu, running around out back, playing your crazy games. Oh, you used to make me laugh! And now look at you. You're an intelligent, capable woman with a successful career and a bright future, and Nicolae, well," she smiled, "he has been quite successful as well."

Catalina swallowed. Vivian failed to mention that Paul's story did not have such a happy ending.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14 – Paul Ionescu

Paul Ionescu. That was a name she had not heard in a while. She wasn't sure it was a name she wanted to hear.

When Catalina had been very young, she didn't spend time with Nicolae Carpathia apart from the occasional weekends that her parents shuffled her over to Vivian's house. They went to the same school, but, while their school was small enough that everyone knew everyone else, it was also large enough that the two of them ran in completely different circles.

Catalina had a group of girlfriends she spent most of her time with. Her sometimes best friend was a pretty red haired girl named Roxana Eliade who was determined to be the next Miss Universe; already she had won two junior pageants and been a runner up in two more. Roxana was only Catalina's _sometimes_ best friend because every few weeks inevitably something would set them off, and they would spend a few days determinedly never speaking to one another again. Then they would reconcile and go on like nothing had happened.

Paul's arrival changed that dynamic entirely. Like the day she met Nicolae, she could vividly remember the day she met Paul. He had been the new kid, a skinny freckle-faced boy with a wide grin and ears too big for his head. He laughed easily, and he made people laugh. That was the thing that Catalina most remembered about Paul. He loved to make people laugh. Nicolae, she recalled, had had the same ability to make people laugh. But you never laughed _at_ Nicolae—you just _didn't_—whereas Paul found humor in everything, including himself.

Paul had had the misfortune of arriving in the middle of the school year during fourth year, when the other children had already formed their cliques. They had turned to Nicolae, who was considered to be the authority on everything, on the issue of whether or not to include Paul in their games. At first he merely shrugged. After a number of kids had asked him, he began to get annoyed.

"What am I, his keeper?" said Nicolae shortly. "He is no concern of mine."

And so they decided that the new kid was no concern of theirs either. For the first two days of fourth year, Paul ate alone in the corner of the lunch room.

All of that changed on the third day when Nicolae walked into the lunch room and sat down across from Paul. Everyone was shocked. Why was the coolest kid in school sitting with the weird new kid? Only Cati had the courage to go up and ask him. As she was the only one who really saw Nicolae outside of school activities, the other children made her his spokesperson when they were too intimidated to ask him something for themselves.

She at least had the grace to wait until Paul had gone from the table before tapping Nicolae on the shoulder and blurting out, literally, "Why are you sitting with the weird new kid?"

"I do not think he is weird," said Nicolae. "Do you even know why _you_ think he is weird?"

She mumbled something about the other kids said so.

"The other kids are idiots," he said with conviction. When that didn't convince her, he sighed, as if pained at her ignorance.

"Look," Nicolae said, "do you ever get a good feeling about something? Like if you are patient, something good will happen?"

"No," said Cati. "Not really."

"Then you should listen when I do," Nicolae said decisively, "and I have a good feeling about Paul Ionescu."

The next day, she joined Nicolae and Paul at the table. Paul looked up from his pudding cup, surprised, but Nicolae greeted her arrival calmly, as if he had been expecting her. It was something she would learn quickly, that Nicolae was almost impervious to surprise.

"Hi," she said to Paul by way of greeting. "I'm Catalina Pavenic. My Daddy is the CEO of Pavenic Industries. And lots of other things." This was back when she had treated her father's fame as her own, when she had not made a distinction between earning others' respect and being entitled to it.

"I'm Paul," said Paul uncomfortably. He clearly didn't know what to do with that introduction. He looked to Nicolae for support. "My dad … er … he doesn't have a job yet. We moved here from Bucharest so he could get one."

"From Bucharest?" said Nicolae. "If he could not find a job in Bucharest, I guarantee it is not much better here." Nicolae was always updated on grown-up affairs. Cati didn't know what he was talking about half the time. If the country was experiencing hard times, the fact was lost on her. She knew that her father had a good job. Her family lived in a good neighborhood. All of the kids at their school came from wealthy, influential families. She wasn't sure how she felt about this scruffy kid with an unemployed father. She gave Nicolae a look as if to say, Am I really expected to hang out with him?

Nicolae frowned at her. She could tell she had disappointed him. She didn't like to disappoint him. She swallowed her pride and attempted to make conversation. "I'm sure he'll, uh, find one soon" she said to Paul.

"I hope so," Paul nodded. "He says we have family out here, so he's going to work with one of his brothers. I haven't met them yet though. My mom's an American, so I haven't met any of her family either. In the house it's just me and my mom and dad and Lupu."

"Lupu?" asked Cati.

"My dog," said Paul. "He's a Raven Shepherd. He's the best dog ever."

"I have a Raven Shepherd too," said Cati happily. "I got her for my birthday. Valeria named her Princess, though, which is stupid. I call her the Red Baron. 'Cause her fur is reddish. And she looks like a Baron." Cati didn't know what a baron was at the time, but she bet that her puppy looked more like a baron than a princess.

"The Red Baron. That's a way better name than Princess," Paul agreed. After that, talk came easily to the three of them. Nicolae, as it turned out, not only knew what a red baron was but could say for certain that he disapproved of them.

"They fly planes and shoot people," he explained. "It is a very violent profession." In the past year, Nicolae had joined the Young Humanist League and discovered pacifism. He had yet to figure out exactly what pacifism was; for example, he was still under the impression that you could have someone else shoot people as long as you didn't do it yourself. Cati liked this; it meant that he always let her be the fighter pilot when they played President versus Terrorists.

"Maybe I'll be a Red Baron," said Cati, "but I won't shoot people. I'll just fly planes."

"But if you didn't shoot people, you wouldn't be a Red Baron," said Paul.

"Maybe," said Nicolae authoritatively, "you could be an Orange Baron. Or a Brown one."

"I could be an Orange Baron," said Cati, nodding, "as long as I still got to fly planes."

Although she didn't know it then, this would be the start of a new way of life. The lunchtime conversations with Nicolae and Paul formed gradually into a habit, and then a friendship, and then, to Cati's ten year old mind, and unbreakable bond. From this moment forward, the three of them would become nigh inseparable.

Their enduring friendship might have explained the good feeling Nicolae had about Paul. Or it might have been explained by a conversation that transpired two years later, when the three of them had long outgrown games of President versus Terrorists. They were sitting at Cati's kitchen table, doing their math homework. Or rather, Cati and Paul were doing their homework. Nicolae was reading a book on recent Romanian politics. Somehow, he always seemed to be several years ahead of whatever they were studying.

Suddenly, Nicolae looked up. "Did you know your father is mentioned in this book?" he said to Cati.

"What?" she said. In the years since the Revolution, Romania had embraced a capitalist economy, and capitalism had been good to her family. Although the city of Cluj-Napoca itself was in decline, Emil Pavenic's industry had boomed. They had moved from the mid-sized house that Cati grew up in to a much larger one with a six-car garage and an in ground pool. He wasn't the richest man in Romania yet, but it was clear that he was moving in that direction. Already Pavenic was a household name in Cluj; within a few years it would be a name recognized all over the country.

In addition to being an astute businessman, Emil Pavenic had become heavily involved in the political scene. It only made sense, then, that his name would appear in a book on recent politics. Yet it caught her off-guard all the same.

"Where is he?" she said, craning her neck to get a better look at the book.

"Right here," he said. He pointed to a spot on the page. Then he grinned, having just seen something funny. "Same page as Jonathan Stonagal." Stonagal was an American banker who had taken an unusual interest in Romanian affairs. Stonagal claimed it was because he had family ties to Romania, though he was not Romanian himself. Some people were grateful, saying that this meant Romania was finally being taken seriously by the West. Others, like Emil Pavenic, thought that Stonagal was butting into affairs that he had no business involving himself in.

"Daddy hates Jonathong Stonagal," sniffed Cati like the good daughter she was. "All Stonagals are liars and crooks." Later in life, she would have a much more solid reason to hate Jonathan Stonagal, though she had no way of knowing this yet.

Paul abruptly put down his book and glared at her. "Hey! My mom's a Stonagal!"

"No she's not," shot Cati. "She's an Ionescu."

"Well," said Paul patiently, "she _used_ to be Anna Stonagal, but then she married my dad, so now she's Anna Ionescu."

"Really?" said Nicolae eagerly. His blue eyes brightened. Then he cleared his throat quickly resumed his book. "But that means nothing. There are lots of Stonagals in the world. It is not like she is related to _the _Stonagals."

Paul smiled slyly, as if he were harboring a particularly juicy secret. "Yeah, she is."

"Yeah right!" Cati burst out laughing. "_A__iurea_!"

"It's true!" argued Paul. "He's my mom's brother. He's in all the old photo albums and everything!"

"Really?" said Nicolae.

"Really," insisted Paul. He held his chin up defiantly. Cati stared at him as though he had sprouted a second head. Nicolae, meanwhile, looked as though he had just been told that Christmas had not only come early but would be celebrated exclusively in his honor.

Finally Nicolae cleared his throat importantly. "If Jonathan Stonagal is your uncle," he announced, "we should get to meet him!"

"Yeah!" Cati nodded enthusiastically. He may have been a liar and a crook, but he was also famous, and she would never pass up the chance to meet someone famous.

"You can't. It's ... it's kind of a secret." Paul sighed and ran his hands through his unkempt hair. "Look, just don't go telling people this, ok? He and my mom had some big fight before I was born, and he stormed out and hasn't come back since. He doesn't talk to the rest of the family anymore."

"Sorry," said Cati.

"We will not tell anyone," Nicolae promised. He pulled out his math book. "Did any of you get question 12?"

"I think so," said Paul, pulling out his worksheet and passing it over. "See if you got the same answer."

Cati stared. Nicolae never needed help with his homework. Something important had just happened. She just wished she knew what.

_A/N – Time has been flying like a lion-horse monster at a 747! I can't believe we're meeting Paul Ionescu already! I hope you like him._

_Reviews and constructive criticism are, as always, deeply appreciated, especially as the story grows!__ Thanks again for reading! _


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N – Fanfiction . net was having some technical difficulties last night, so I had to delay my post and my announcement until today._

_ANNOUNCEMENT: So I love writing this story, and, in a perfect world, this is what I would do all day. Unfortunately, this is not a perfect world, and I have to balance my writing with work and school. While most of the story is completed, the next ten chapters are in desperate need of finishing/editing. I simply cannot finish them fast enough to continue posting at a weekly rate at a level of quality that I would be proud of. (I mean, I could if I stopped studying and flunked all of my classes, but that would be silly.) So, as much as it saddens me, for the remainder of the semester, I WILL ONLY BE POSTING NEW CHAPTERS ON THE 16__TH__ OF EACH MONTH. Weekly posting will resume on June 6__th__ at 6 pm. Thanks again for reading, for your wonderful reviews, and for your patience!_

_The usual disclaimer applies._

Chapter 15 – The Kid With The Mark

Reminiscing about the old days brought Catalina and Vivian as far as the Palace entrance, where they disembarked and followed the security guards into the lobby through a pair of double doors. The lobby was a spacious room with a bubbling fountain in the center and a tinted sky light high above them. Vivian paused at the reception desk to sign Catalina into the building. Then the guards led them down to the bottom floor to get Catalina's photo taken. She was to be photographed and given an ID badge, Vivian explained, that would allow her access to all of the VIP rooms and events.

Mitzi had once talked about an old myth, which said that when a camera captured your image, it also captured your soul.

"They use the picture to steal your life force," she had explained with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm, "and then they stick it onto a Voodoo doll."

"And then what?" said Catalina. "They turn you into a zombie?"

"Nah," said Mitzi. "Usually they just kill you."

Catalina had dismissed it as yet another one of Mitzi's bizarre monster anecdotes. Now, as the GC photographer snapped her picture, she could not suppress a shudder.

The bored photographer handed her a driver's license-sized card with her photo on it. "Keep this on you at all times," he said. "This will identify you as a VIP Guest of the Potentate's. It's embedded with a chip that will unlock the door to your suite and allow you admittance to some of the luxuries here: the spa, the gym, the pool… the complete list is available in your itinerary."

Catalina took a look at her card. Under her photo was a series of numbers, followed by the words "Catalina Pavenic: VIP."

Vivian was wearing a similar card clipped to the lapel of her blouse. Catalina glanced at it; the words under Vivian's picture read "Vivian Ivins: Employee."

"Employee?" said Catalina. Until now, she had assumed Vivian was a guest as well. "Since when?"

"Since last week," said Vivian proudly. "And why not? I have earned it. You will be offered the same opportunity. But I will leave that for you to discuss with His Excellency when you see him. For now, let's get you to your room."

She would be offered the same opportunity? Vivian had to be mistaken. There was nothing resembling a 737 here, unless Nicolae was expecting her to receive training on some of the larger planes. Even then, there were many far superior pilots who would give anything to work for the GC. Why hire her over one of them? It didn't make any sense.

The guards, their duty presumably done, set off in one direction while Vivian led Catalina down another hall with walls of sleek black marble. Mosaic tiles covered the floor, the intricately crafted design forming the letters GC in various patterns. The outer wall was one long glass window through which Cati could see the road that they had come in on. Heat waves rose from the pavement, drifting up towards the gleaming sun. She was suddenly grateful for the air conditioning that was piping in through vents above them.

Along the way, they passed a group of employees in full GC regalia. Catalina did a double take. The youngest one had the mark of a believer on his forehead. She presumed he was some sort of intern; he must have been in college, or just out of it. But a Believer, working for Nicolae? He may have been a kid, but he had to be old enough to know for whom he was working. She hoped that before the festivities started she'd get a chance to talk to him and find out what he was doing here.

Vivian waved cheerfully to the young man bearing the mark. "Good morning, Director!" she said. A Director? This kid? Catalina suddenly felt very old.

"Morning, Vivian," he said.

"The Supreme Commander was looking for you earlier," said Vivian, pausing in her step. "Did you get a chance to speak with him?"

"Yeah," said the kid. His eyes flashed briefly to Catalina's forehead, but he gave no sign that he had noticed anything unusual. "He just needed to get a few things straightened out about the transportation to the Gala," he told Vivian. "It's been pretty crazy trying to get things ready by Saturday. You sure picked a heck of a week to start work here."

"His Excellency offered to let me wait until after the Gala, but I wanted to start right away. I consider it an honor," said Vivian primly.

"Sure," said the kid. "I know what you mean. Waking up every morning knowing you work for the greatest man who ever walked the earth—it's a good feeling." Catalina got the impression that he wasn't referring to Nicolae. "Anyway, I'll see you around." The kid waved to both of them, then turned to catch up with the rest of his party.

Vivian continued down the hall, Catalina at her heels

"He seemed awfully young to be a Director," she said. She hoped Vivian would take the bait and tell her more about the kid with the mark; at the very least who he was. It would be good to have an ally at the Palace.

"Oh, Director Hassid may be young," said Vivian, "but don't be fooled by his youth. His Excellency says he's one of the most promising employees here. In fact, you remember the program that was intended to locate the traitor Ben-Judah by tracing his blog posts?" Catalina had heard something about it in the news a few months back. She nodded. "Well, Director Hassid designed and implemented the entire system."

"Oh?" said Catalina.

"Yes," said Vivian absently. "It's a shame it didn't work."

"Quite a shame." Catalina kept a completely straight face.

"Perhaps that was a bad example," Vivian went on. "He has done exemplary work on much more successful projects. Did I ever tell you…" Vivian went off on another story as she led Catalina up several flights of stairs to a wing full of numbered rooms. She indicated Catalina's room and that she should swipe her card alongside the door handle. Catalina did so, and the door swung open, revealing a spacious, though gaudily decorated, interior. Her luggage was already sitting at the foot the bed.

"I'll leave you the rest of the morning to unpack," said Vivian, "but be ready at quarter to one to meet with His Excellency. I'll come to your room to escort you down."

She left briskly. The door swung shut. Catalina was alone with her thoughts.


	16. Chapter 16

_It's Nicolae Carpathia's birthday! I'm going to celebrate by working towards world peace and … not going to church? Rawr, evil! :)_

Chapter 16 – Once Upon a Time

Catalina sat on the bed and opened her suitcase. Years of travel had made her an expert at packing and unpacking quickly and efficiently. Today, though, it felt different. She unpacked slowly, feeling the weight of all of her old things as she moved them to their new places.

Catalina carried at the bottom of her suitcase a zip lock bag full of mementos, fragments of her life before the Rapture. Her father's watch, a postcard from Val, a ring, a letter, a few other tiny items that would seem like junk to anybody else. To Catalina, these things were priceless treasures. They were the final remnants of a world that seemed with every passing day to become more like a fairy tale told to a generation of children who would never grow old. Catalina picked up the ring and held it in her palm, where it glittered like the proverbial gold.

Once upon a time, Catalina had been engaged.

Cat was not a romantic. She had never much bought into the idea of everyone having a single soul mate. She believed that everyone was compatible with multiple partners, and who you ended up with depended on time and circumstance. But she truly believed that compatibility became love, and she knew she had been in love. There had been two men in her history that she would have wanted to spend her future with had things turned out differently. Ethan Anderson was the second.

Ethan had also been a pilot working for Pan Con. Cat had known of him but had never really talked to him until one evening when they were both stranded in Heathrow Airport with no planes running. A volcano had recently erupted, filling the air with ash and causing the airspace over much of Europe to be closed. Today it seemed insane that there had been so much fuss over one little volcano that had not even caused any casualties, but it had been a different world back then.

Ethan had sat next to her in the crowded break room.

"Hey," he'd said. "You're Chris' friend Cat, right? I'm Ethan." He held out his hand, and she shook it.

"Ethan," she said. The name rang a bell. "Oh, yeah. Chris told me about you. Didn't you land a 747 in a blizzard last month? And everyone was really impressed?"

"Oh, they told you about the blizzard?" He looked embarrassed. Cat liked him for that. "It really wasn't a big deal."

"I'm sure." She smiled. "Where are you headed?" Then she corrected herself. No one was headed anywhere. "Where _were_ you headed?"

He sighed. "Theoretically I _should_ be back in D.C. by now. It's my brother's 40th birthday, and I was supposed to bring the drinks." He shrugged. "Not much I can do about that now."

"Tell me about it," she said. "My family was throwing a party—an old friend just got a big promotion. I was supposed to swing by tonight after an assignment and celebrate with them, but the air space over Romania is completely closed."

"What kind of promotion?" Ethan asked.

"He was just elected President of the Chamber of Deputies." Ethan looked impressed. Cat failed to suppress a grin. "Yeah, it's kind of a big deal."

"I feel bad for the guy," said Ethan. "My brother's a senator, and from what he's told me, what with this economy, it sucks to be the one in charge. You get all the blame but none of the benefits. My dad was a congressman, and he tried to pressure me into going into politics too, but I've never regretted saying, 'Hell, no.' Besides, all those people watching your every move … the spotlight is more hassle than it's worth."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Cat said emphatically.

"Hey," said Ethan, grinning. "Since we're both being deprived of our respective parties, we might as well go somewhere. I know a great little pub not too far from here."

Cat had smiled. "That would be great."

That night was the start of something. They had dated for two years and the engagement had lasted for two more. She liked that there was something humble about Ethan. He was an exceptional pilot, but he always seemed surprised and a little embarrassed by any praise. Later, he would confide that he had seen praise offered insincerely and was aware of how fickle public opinion could be. Cat understood completely. They shared an aversion to being the center of public attention.

It was funny, looking back. Her first conversation with Ethan had been about Nicolae, and their last had been about Nicolae too. It was right after her friend had become the President of Romania. Val had called her with the news while Ethan was getting ready to leave on an international flight for four days. Catalina had hung up the phone, gone into the bedroom where Ethan was packing, and flopped onto the bed.

"Hey," she said. She propped herself up on top of his suitcase. "You are _not _going to believe what just happened."

Ethan was brushing his teeth in the adjoining bathroom. " Wha'?" he asked.

"You know my friend Nicolae?"

Ethan finished brushing his teeth and wiped his mouth with a towel. "The crazy pacifist in the Chamber of Deputies?"

"Yeah, him," Cat said, wrinkling her nose. She didn't like it when Ethan called Nicolae's ideas crazy. "Guess who just became the President of Romania?"

Ethan stared at her. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"I didn't think this was an election year."

"It's not." She rolled off of his suitcase so that he could continue packing and sat on the edge of the bed. "The last president had to step down for personal reasons, and he requested Nicolae as his replacement."

Ethan laughed. "You're putting me on," he said. "That's so many different kinds of undemocratic. There's no way the public would go along with that."

Cat said nothing but smiled wryly. She pulled out her iPhone, googled the phrase "President Nicolae Carpathia," and showed it to Ethan. He stared incredulously at the articles that popped up.

"Aren't people angry?" he said. "If this happened in America, there would be an uproar."

Catalina gave him an incredibly blank stare. "Hm," she said finally, "I guess it's a little weird, but Romania isn't America." She grinned again, then jumped up. "Hey, you know what this means? The President of Romania is going to be at _our_ wedding!" Laughing, she threw her arms around Ethan and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Now if you could get your brother elected president, we could have both of our countries represented!"

They had talked more the wedding, about setting the date, and she had promised to start working on the invitations while he was away. She'd kissed him goodbye and said she'd see him in four days.

Four days later, around the time that Ethan should have been on his way home from the airport, Val called her hysterical, crying about the disappearances. The first number she dialed after talking to Val was Ethan's cell. No answer. She dialed again. And again. Each time she dialed, the pit of her stomach plummeted another six inches. Finally, an unfamiliar voice picked up. "Hello?"

"Where's Ethan?" said Catalina. "Who's this?"

"This is Bob Welsch, EMT," said the man on the other line. She could hear sirens blaring in the background. She knew what was coming already. "Was your friend driving a blue Ford Mustang?"

"Yes," said Catalina, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "The driver of the other car disappeared, and there was a crash. It looks like he died instantly." He cleared his throat for lack of anything else to say. "How did you know him?"

"I … I was going to marry him."

"Christ, Lady, I'm sorry. But there's nothing I can do. He's gone, and I've got other patients to attend to." He paused. "You gonna be alright?"

"My fiancé just died," Catalina snapped. "How do you think I'm going to be?"

"I'm sorry," he said again and hung up. Catalina swore and kicked the side of the couch. In the course of a month, she had lost her father and her fiancé. And how could she have known that would be just the beginning of the devastation that would plague her for the next three and a half years? Her father… Ethan… her mother… practically everyone from Cluj-Napoca… and now Val. Death wasn't something you just got used to, and it never got easier; with each missing loved one, it only got harder to understand why.

Back in the palace at New Babylon, she shook her head, as if she was trying to shake out the old memories. Her suitcase was empty. She had finished emptying it without noticing.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Cati, it's Vivian," Viv called. "His Excellency is almost ready to meet with you. Are you ready?"

"Ready," Catalina called back. She uncoiled her fingers from around the ring and slid it back into the translucent plastic bag. Somehow she felt she had never been less ready for anything in her life.

_A/N – Thank you all for your patience! You guys are fantastic, and I can't tell you how much better this story is coming along now that I've given myself extra weeks to work on it!  
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_In the 2004 version, I kind of threw Ethan in like "Oh, btw, Cat used to be engaged to this guy named Ethan but he died. Anywayz..." It took some time to figure out how Ethan was going to fit into the rewrite, but I think I've got him figured out. Also, in case you were wondering, no, Nicolae never became President of the Chamber of Deputies in the books, but I figured if he was going to spend 7 years chilling in the lower house of the Romanian government he might as well spend some time working his way up through the ranks._

_Tune in on March 16__th__ when Cati finally comes face to face with Antichrist himself!_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17 – Nicolae and Leon

_Note: This chapter contains mild swearing. _

Vivian escorted Catalina down to His Excellency's office, where she was introduced to the secretary, Sandra. Sandra, Catalina noted, was an attractive blonde with long legs, perfectly manicured nails, and an extremely short skirt. All of his secretaries seemed to be patterned from the same mold. She wasn't sure how she felt about this.

"You're Catalina Pavenic, aren't you?" said Sandra enthusiastically. "After all I've heard about you, it's great to finally put a face to the name!"

"Nicolae told you about me?" said Catalina, perplexed. She was fairly certain he hadn't given her a thought in years.

"Um… yes!" said Sandra, a little too quickly. So no then. "That and I read about you in the papers."

"Oh." Catalina tried to sound casual. She had made the papers dozens of times. Sandra could be talking about anything. "Read, um, what exactly?"

"Nothing. Bits and pieces, really," said Sandra vaguely. "His Excellency's work with Emil Pavenic, the election, the scandal ten years ago…" Sandra seemed to realize she had said the wrong thing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Catalina tensed.

"It wasn't a scandal," Catalina said.

"Right, of course not," said Sandra quickly, looking anywhere but at Catalina.

She wished Sandra would just look her in the eye and accused her outright of whatever this particular paper had said she'd done. The avoidance was more annoying than the confrontation would have been.

"Look," snapped Catalina. "I don't know which version of the story you picked up in the tabloids, but there was no 'scandal.' One of my best friends was killed by a couple of crazies with a political agenda, and the case was solved immediately. Then the media saw that there were public figured involved, turned it into a huge story, and made it a whole lot harder for those of us who were actually trying to mourn. The only thing scandalous about it was how callous the public was. You'd think our grief was nothing but fodder for their Sunday gossip columns." **

"I'm sorry," Sandra insisted, her eyes wide. "I knew there was a death, but I didn't realize you were so close to the victim."

"Well, I was," said Catalina shortly.

"Sorry," said Sandra again. An awkward silence ensued. Then the secretary cleared her throat and resumed a professional air. "His Excellency wanted me to inform you that he has been detained by a meeting in the upper level conference room. He would appreciate it if you meet him there."

"Thank you," said Catalina coolly. "I will."

She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room. Only once she had gone some distance down the hall did she pause to take a breath. She wasn't sure where that little dramatic exit had come from—it wasn't the first time she had been confronted with her past, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Something about Sandra's demeanor had set her on edge. Or maybe it was this whole damned place. She couldn't shake the feeling of how _strange_ this entire trip was.

"Cheeky little thing, isn't she?" said Vivian. "Bringing that up after all these years. I can't imagine why His Excellency keeps her around."

"Mm-hm," said Catalina half-heartedly, remembering Sandra's long legs and too-short skirt. She had a pretty good idea why His Excellency kept her around. "So how do we get to this conference room?"

"We take the elevator, just around this corner," said Vivian. The elevator was made to look old-fashioned, with a bronze dial over the doors that indicated which floor they were on. Catalina watched the numbers slowly swing upwards as they ascended. "You'll learn the layout pretty quickly," Vivian explained as they stepped off. "It's fairly simple. The offices are on the west and north wings, living quarters on the east and south wings. Meetings are usually held at the farthest end of the west wing. In a room much like this one." She gestured at the wide double doors in front of them. "And here we are."

They waited in silence. As the minutes passed, Catalina could feel the butterflies multiplying in her stomach. Any lingering annoyance she had felt over Sandra's comment was gone, twisted instead into a growing sense of anxiety. She knew exactly what was coming. In a minute, the doors were going to open, and the man who stepped out would be the Antichrist. He would be a megalomaniac corrupted by power, someone so utterly different from the person she knew in Romania, and she would wish she had never seen him this way.

She had half a mind to turn around, apologize to Vivian, and walk away. It would have been better to stay home, to remember Nicolae as the bright-eyed idealist who clamored for peace, as the boy she and Paul had sat with at lunch all those years ago. Yet she remained standing, her feet rooted in place by the faint hope that she would be proven wrong...

The doors burst open.

An assembly of businessmen in dark suits spilled out through the doorway, talking and laughing with a gusto that seemed out of place. Catalina watched them, feeling slightly puzzled. Shouldn't their mood be more solemn, more … sinister? After all, they had just come from a meeting with Antichrist. But no, there was an air of cheerfulness about them. They joked and clapped each other on the back. Whatever they had discussed had left them in high spirits.

Catalina scanned the sea of faces anxiously, trying to find the one she was there to see. It was a quick search—he was not hard to find. He stood in the middle of the crowd, shaking hands and speaking with a few other men. The throng of business people seemed to revolve around him like faceless shapes whirling about the center of a kaleidoscope.

Nicolae saw her looking at him. He met her eyes and smiled. She had always loved his eyes. Blue like sapphires, bright as sunlight, they were eyes that invited absolute trust, promised absolute sincerity. She smiled back, butterflies forgotten.

"Cati Pavenic!" said Nicolae happily, approaching her. The crowd swept to either side as he made his way through them, like a modern-day Moses parting the Red Sea. "It is good to see you, old friend. How have you been?"

"I've been great!" said Catalina. "Just great!"

"I am glad you could make it," Nicolae said warmly. He held out a hand for her to shake. Like the day she'd met him for the first time. In a way, it was like meeting him for the first time all over again. _Catalina_, _meet Antichrist, _she thought._ Sworn enemy of your God._

She accepted his handshake and felt a rush of warmth flow through her at his touch. The sensation wasn't unpleasant—it was soothing, even—but it was unexpected, and she withdrew her hand in surprise.

"Is everything alright?" Nicolae asked, concern momentarily flashing across his handsome face. Amazing how little his face had changed since she had seen him last. His formerly tousled blond hair was neatly trimmed, and there were creases at the corners of his eyes that had not been there ten years ago. But he had the same bright, intelligent eyes, the same humble smile, the same intimate manner of speaking that could make you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when a crowd of thirty-some business men stood nearby.

"Everything's fine," she assured him, "Nic- I mean," she hurried to correct herself, "Excellency."

Nicolae laughed. His laugh was like velvet, soft and rich. "Formal titles are hardly necessary. You may call me Nicolae, Cati, as you always have."

"Alright. Nicolae." She smiled hesitantly. "It's really good to see you too."

"I am sorry I kept you waiting," Nicolae apologized. "Normally the morning's sessions would be over by now, but today I was unavoidably detained. I hope you were not inconvenienced."

"It was no problem."

"That is good to hear." He smiled. "Tell me, have you eaten yet?"

"I had some salted nuts on the plane," she said.

"That was hours ago!" Nicolae said. "Surely you are hungry. You will join me and my staff for a brief lunch." It was not a command, but it wasn't a question either. It was a statement of what she would do. He was already guiding her down the hall towards the elevator, Vivian close behind her.

"After lunch, I have a surprise for you," Nicolae added.

The Antichrist had a surprise for her. Great.

Nicolae chuckled at her shocked expression. "You will like it, I promise."

A grey-haired man whom Catalina recognized from TV was moving towards them.

"There you are, Supreme Commander," called Nicolae, waving him over. "Cati, I would like for you to meet the Supreme Commander, Leonardo Fortunato. Supreme Commander, this is my dear friend Captain Catalina Pavenic. She will be joining us for lunch."

On TV and in the front pages of all the papers, Fortunato came across as a wise, grandfatherly figure. In person, though, Fortunato made her think of a chubby, droopy-eyed beagle. He bobbed over to Nicolae's side like a puppy eager to please its master.

"How do you do?" he said to Catalina, nearly tripping over himself as he thrust his hand forward for her to shake. "It's great to finally meet the famed daughter of Emil Pavenic. Your father was a great man, Miss Pavenic! A great man!"

"Thank you," she said, a little taken aback by his exuberance. "It's good to finally meet you too. It's been a while since His Ex—since Nicolae and I last spoke, but back in Romania he had only glowing things to say about you."

"Indeed," said Nicolae proudly. "And since then Leon has been a great benefit to the GC."

"Excellency, I have done nothing but your will," Leon protested breathlessly, his droopy eyes wide and admiring. "Any benefit I have been to the GC is due to your influence and inspiration." Catalina frowned. She was not sure whether to find his devotion impressive or pathetic.

"He is very modest as well," Nicolae explained, chuckling.

The Supreme Commander turned beet red and stammered out a round of ardent thank yous. Cati decided to go with pathetic.

_**Refer to Nicolae's interview in Left Behind, circa p. 270._

_I'm trying some things with Nicolae that, as a writer, I have never done before, and so I am, as always, interested in your feedback. _

_Incidentally, why did I choose sapphires to describe Nicky's eyes? Partially because I didn't think the fan fiction world needed another "His eyes were like dark liquid pools" type description. But more importantly, for those of you who don't regularly browse 16__th__ century lapidaries, you might be intrigued to know that the sapphire was a stone that could grant men supernatural powers (either good or evil depending on who you asked). It was valued for its powers of healing and comforting, but it was also a favorite stone of Apollyon (i.e. Satan). _

_So make of that what you will._

_Thanks once more for your patience and reviews! There will be a special April Fools Day chapter coming up on April 1__st__, so stop back then if you're up for some random weirdness. Otherwise I'll see you April 16__th__ for brunch with the Antichrist!_


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N - So I spent two months saying, "Aw, grad school's not so bad!" Then I hit April and haven't had a moment to breathe since. Trib Force Teh Movie should be up by the end of the month, when my semester ends and I have no excuse not to finish it. The Forgotten Things, glorious 80 chapter over-achievement that it has become, is moving steadily along. Thanks to finals and my short attention span, I didn't really take time to reread the later LB books, so I just started making up names and character descriptions that I couldn't remember. You may correct me if you feel so inclined. I'll fix things if I have time._

_Thanks again for your patience and for being generally awesome and especially for forgiving me for writing while sleep deprived! Summer should bring with it a little more free time that I look forward to devoting to this project._

18 - Adulations

An elevator took Nicolae, Leon, Vivian, and Cati to a private dining room on the top floor of the palace. Through the broad windows the landscape rolled away from them in a delicate blend of green gardens and sand-colored buildings. The view was breath-taking. The same could not be said for the room itself, which was a cacophony of red, gold, and mahogany. The colors were not unpleasant by themselves, but they were combined in all the wrong ways, in ugly splotches and blotches that stretched across the walls.

The latest fashion, Vivian informed her proudly. A very expensive design created by the artist Guy Blod.

By the time they arrived in the dining room, Hickman and Akbar were already at the table. Hickman was a corpulent man with a bulbous nose and a midsection so round that Catalina wondered whether he would need two chairs to hold up the extra weight. Yet he moved with surprising speed and exuberance as he rose to greet Nicolae and Fortunato.

Suhail Akbar was a dark-skinned man whom Nicolae introduced to Catalina as the new Director of Security. Suhail smiled at Catalin, and she repressed an uncomfortable shudder. He had eyes the color of flint, and his smile didn't meet them.

Lunch, like everything else at the palace, was extravagant, with food the likes of which she hadn't tasted in years. Catalina remained on her guard throughout the meal even though she didn't know why she felt so jumpy. Nicolae was clearly doing all he could to make her feel welcome, but every so often she would meet his eyes and feel bothered by the fleeting sense that she was missing something. She could not shake the awareness that she was having lunch with the _Antichrist. _It was that knowledge, she figured, that set her on edge. This whole place was starting to grate against her like an itch that could not be scratched.

Nicolae, for his part, kept the conversation cheerful and polite. He asked her how she was enjoying Pittsburgh, whether she was still flying 737s, what she thought of New Babylon so far.

"I haven't seen much of it yet," she replied to the third inquiry. "Just the airport, the lobby, and my suite."

"Ah, and the suite." Nicolae nodded approvingly. "I hope the accommodations are to your liking."

"Oh, yes. They're very nice." 'Nice' was putting it lightly. The contents of her suite probably cost more than those of her entire apartment building put together.

"I reserved another room for your friend," Nicolae said, "but I noticed she did not arrive with you."

"She was too sick to fly yesterday, but she'll meet us in Jerusalem. She came across some bad sushi," Catalina explained.

"That is unfortunate." He looked genuinely upset for a moment. Then he smiled again. "You will not have to worry about sushi here. I have not forgotten your dislike of fish."

She felt warmed knowing that he had remembered after all these years. Well, she reminded herself, he _did_ have a photographic memory. But still!

"I hope her condition is not too serious," he added.

"No, it's not serious," Catalina said. "Just a twenty-four hour thing." But now that Nicolae had mentioned it, the idea made her nervous. Between the fifteen hour flight and the chaotic morning, it had been nearly a full day since she had spoken with Mitzi. Surely she was feeling better by now. Catalina made a mental note to Skype with her as soon as the afternoon was over.

"I do not mean to worry you," said Nicolae quickly. "Only that the world has, as of late, been prone to a series of unpleasant surprises. I was," he added, leaning towards her and lowering his voice out of respect, "very sorry to hear about your sister."

"Thank you," she said, a lump quickly rising in her throat. The sorrow in his voice was so deep it was as though Val's death were his loss too. Perhaps it was. Val had been a part of his childhood, after all, if only as the annoying little girl who tried to tag along to the older kids' games. Catalina swallowed, ashamed of all the times she'd told Val she was too little to come. Now she wished she'd let her little sister tag along more often.

"I was so sorry to hear about your fiancée," Catalina added, remembering that she was not the only one who had recently suffered a loss. "I met Miss Durham several times through work, and she was a … a wonderful woman." In fact, she had thought Hattie Durham was an obnoxious gold-digging slut, but this was neither the time nor the place for those opinions. "I know it can be hard… losing someone like that…"

"Your condolences are appreciated," Nicolae said, sighing deeply. "Indeed, it was quite tragic."

Across from her, the Supreme Commander nodded. "But His Excellency handled the crushing loss of his fiancée with such dignity and grace," he bubbled devotedly. "We are fortunate to have a leader who can carry the world forward even in the midst of such a personal loss. He is truly a beacon of light in these dark and tragic times."

Nicolae beamed at him, Hattie Durham apparently forgotten. Catalina frowned. She already felt weird about this whole situation, and it didn't help that Leon had spent most of the meal saying things like that. He'd managed to heap praise on Nicolae for every insignificant thing the man had ever said or done. When she tried to compliment the chef after tasting the appetizer, Leon was quick to point out that His Excellency had personally chosen that dish. When she commented on the spectacular view of the palace's grounds, Leon began to gush about how, in his brilliance and infinite wisdom, His Excellency had hired the perfect landscapers.

If she thought she had allies in her three other companions, she was wrong. Vivian and Hickman seemed, if anything, to be trying to outdo him. (They were failing, as no one could match Leon's exuberant support of his employer.) Suhail occasionally chimed into the adulations but with an air of amusement. He seemed to know he could never compete with Leon and wasn't even going to try.

Catalina tried to ignore the self-satisfied look on Nicolae's face each time the table set off on another round of adulations, but it was clear that he was enjoying every word. The worst part was that he kept glancing at her expectantly, as if he assumed she was going to join in. She bit her tongue and turned her gaze to the rack of lamb on her plate. She had come here to visit, not to pay homage to his landscaper-hiring abilities.

Halfway through the meal, a waiter appeared in the doorway.

"Excellency, you have two calls on the line. Haashim Palia is asking to speak to you privately on an urgent matter. And Pontifex Maximus demands that you stop ignoring his calls—his words, not mine," the man added quickly, as Nicolae's expression had rapidly darkened. Just as rapidly, it returned to normal.

"Tell Subpotentate Palia I will be right there," Nicolae said casually. He did not respond to the statement regarding Pontifex Maximus at all. Instead, he turned to Catalina with an apologetic smile. "I hope you do not mind if I leave you for a few moments. It should not take long."

"Don't let me hold you back," she insisted. The moment he was out of the room, however, she began to wish she had asked him to stay.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N – Hey guys, bad news. I wanted so badly to give you weekly updates come June, but as far as this story has come, I just don't think that's going to happen. Who would have thought that juggling a full time job and full time school and the writing of a novel-length story would be HARD? :p j/k _

_However, following the special June 6__th__ post I will strive to post something at least EVERY OTHER WEEK ('something' meaning either TFT or one of the several other stories I have going on here). Thus continue to expect posts on the 16__th__ of each month and (starting in July) the 2__nd__ of each month as well. In the meantime, thank you as ever for reading, for your reviews, and for your support!_

_PS – On the plus side, who else is psyched for Fred Clark's analysis of "Nicolae" on Friday?_

Chapter 19 – Inseparable

The moment Nicolae was gone from the room, Leon turned his gaze from the doorway with a wistful sigh.

"Such a brilliant man," Leon said to Cati. "I have been working with him for more than a decade now, and even I cannot fathom the extent of his genius."

"He's certainly … one of a kind," Catalina said cautiously.

"I think I speak for everyone at this table when I say I envy the both of you," Leon added, addressing Catalina and Vivian. "To have known His Excellency as a child, to have watched him grow into the exemplary leader he is today…"

"I could not have asked for a greater honor," Vivian said at the same time as Catalina started to insist, "It really wasn't a big deal."

The others all turned to stare at Catalina with expressions of disbelief. That was a stupid thing to say. He was Nicolae Carpathia. Of course it was a big deal.

"I mean," she said, backtracking quickly, "Vivian knew him much longer than I did. She was more involved."

"Oh don't be modest, Cati!" said Vivian with a laugh. She turned to Leon. "Cati was right in the thick of things. She's known his Excellency longer than anyone alive, apart from myself. Why you should have seen her with Nicolae and Paul Ionescu. You remember Paul," she added to Leon.

A wave of anxiousness passed over Catalina. She didn't want to talk about this, not here, not now, and certainly not with these people. "Vivian-" she protested, but Leon interrupted.

"Ah, yes, Paul Ionescu was a great man," he said, nodding forcefully. "Even after they became rivals, His Excellency always had the deepest respect for him. I've rarely seen him as upset as he was the day he found out about the murder."

"Such a shame about that," said Vivian. "And Paul's wife, she killed herself out of grief as I recall." Catalina shuddered, remembering the look on Maria Ionescu's face the last time she'd seen her. And here Vivian was talking about that day as if it had been some detached event she had watched on TV.

"How things change!" Vivian continued nostalgically. "But if only you'd seen them back in high school, Nicolae, Paul, and Cati—why they were inseparable! Never one without the other two."

"Inseparable? Is this true?" Leon said to Cati. His hounddog-like eyes were wide with admiration.

"Of course it's true!" burst Vivian. Cati bit her lip and stared uncomfortably down at her plate. The spoon had a silver cherub carved into the handle. It struck her as stupid that someone had carved an angel into the Antichrist's silverware. "They were such good friends, always looking out for one another. It was at one of Cati's parents' parties that Nicolae first met Jonathan Stonagal! And Nicolae owes his first political position to her. Cati recommended him. Argued for him, in fact. She was only sixteen at the time, but she could already sense that he was destined for great things! Isn't that right,Cati?"

Catalina opened her mouth to argue. She didn't want to be credited with the Antichrist's first taste of power. _No. Of course not! That wasn't what happened!_

But wasn't that what happened?

Hickman clapped fleshy hands together and lounged back in his chair (the wooden base creaked under his weight). "Now that," said Hickman, is a story I'd like to hear."

"Absolutely," said Suhail. "It isn't every day we meet the woman who made the man who rules the world." He turned his cold flint eyes onto her. Every pair of eyes at the table was watching her, waiting for her explanation. She knew they were jealous that this distinction was hers. If only they knew this was nothing to be jealous of.

Catalina pushed her chair back from the table. It scraped against the floor with a deafening shriek. "I have to go."

"Go?" said Vivian in surprise.

"Only for a minute." She cleared her throat and recovered with a gracious smile. She'd once been very good at feigning graciousness, although it had been years since she'd felt the need to do so. "I just need some air," she said sweetly. "Why don't you tell them the story, Vivian? You tell it so well." The prince of lies himself wouldn't know her smile was fake.

Vivian's eyes lit up in what she supposed was realization. "Of course, how silly of me. You must be so sick of telling people this story. They must ask you all the time."

"I'm so glad you understand, Vivian," she gushed.

"Who would understand better than I? I didn't mean to bore you, my dear," said Vivian apologetically. Relieved that she had managed to extricate herself from the situation, Catalina expressed her forgiveness. Then, before anyone could protest, she hurried back into the solitude of the elevator.

Only once the doors had firmly closed, separating Catalina from the rest of the party, did she breathe a sigh of relief. Vivian had been wrong, of course. She hadn't told a soul in ten years.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N – It's Damien Thorne's birthday! It's also officially summer vacay in my heart, if not in practice, and that means biweekly postings on the 2__nd__ and 16__th__ of each month! Yay! (Aside: I wonder who would win in a fight, Nicky or Damien?)  
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_*Citing my Referenced Works and Also a Warning – I assumed I should post a warning because in this chapter Cati reflects on how awful it is when everything you knew for the first eighteen years of your life is swallowed up by an earthquake, and it's, you know, kind of depressing? Aspects of said reflection are derived from Art Speigelman's lovely masterpiece _Maus, _many articles about _Maus, _part of "The Monkey's Paw," and very loosely on some (much less traumatic) personal experiences.*_

Chapter 20 – Going Down

Catalina stared at her reflection in the gold-tinged elevator door. The reflection stared back at her, dark brown hair framing the face of a woman who looked oddly calm and collected. How appearances could deceive.

_Come on, Cat, _she ordered herself. _You can't keep losing your nerve like this. __Get a grip._

But it was easier said than done. She'd thought she could handle this. Thought she could just waltz into New Babylon unaffected, say goodbye to what was left of her old friend and return to Pittsburgh at the end of ten uneventful days. As if she could show up armed with her knowledge of God's grace and move calmly through whatever twists and turns the week revealed.

But actually being here, she wasn't so sure. Between Sandra bringing up the so-called scandal and Vivian going on about how faithful a friend Catalina had once been, the past was already starting to bear down on her with unexpected ferocity. Catalina closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temple. The stress was giving her a headache. She'd remember to take some Advil when she got back to her suite.

In the aftermath of the Great Earthquake two years ago, she had gone to see Val, who was staying with friends in Timisoara. She didn't visit Cluj at all, as Val's firsthand descriptions of the desolation had been enough, and Cat had wanted to remember the city of Cluj-Napoca as a city of life and light and people. She didn't want to see a wasteland full of the dying and despairing. She and Val remained in Timisoara while they got everything settled. They talked and cried and reached out to the few acquaintances who had survived (there weren't many). But as time wore on, Catalina was reminded that she still had a life to tend to back in America. Her boss at Pan Con called her three times to remind her that she was out of sick days. She had to go back or risk losing what little she had left.

She had asked Val to come with her, but Val had not.

And then she was back in the Northeastern United States where the quake had been hardly more than a tremor, and her daily life remained undisrupted. She listened to coworkers gripe about all of the delays caused when major airports were closed down, or how the tremor had shaken pictures off their walls at home and cracked the fragile frames. So inconvenient, they said, rolling their eyes, and then they'd returned to their routines, their minor tragedies forgotten in a matter of days. At times it was almost possible to pretend that nothing had happened, that she could hop on the next trans-Atlantic flight to Cluj-Napoca and find everything as it had been.

But the quake had happened, and for several uneasy weeks, Catalina had moved through life feeling as though she were waiting for something, some absolution, a way to reconnect the disconnected fragments of her life. When no absolution presented itself, she found herself feeling more and more unsettled, drifting through her routine like a ghost through solid walls. Nothing seemed quite real. It was as if she was peering at the world around her through a layer of gauze, and if she ripped away the gauze she wasn't sure what she would find on the other side. It wouldn't be a world she recognized.

But the earthquake had been two years ago. She had found herself a new home, and between time and God's love those wounds had healed and she had begun to feel grounded again. She should be fine by now. She had been fine. And yet from the moment she'd crossed the Palace threshold, the sense of unreality, of staring at the world through a layer of gauze, had returned. She wondered if she was in shock. Could something as uneventful as visiting an old friend send you into shock?

Then again, if it was the halfway point of the Apocalypse and that friend was the Antichrist, then yes. Yes, a state of shock was not unexpected.

Catalina took a deep breath. There was no use dwelling on things she couldn't change. _Look, i__t's only ten days, _she insisted to her frustratingly calm reflection. _Everything's fine._ _You can do this for ten days._ It was not an entirely comforting thought, but it was soothing enough. She looked up at the bronze dial over the elevator doors. The swinging arrow indicated that she was slowly going down. If she rode all the way to the first floor and back up, that should give her enough time to get composed and prepare herself for whatever came next.

And hopefully miss Vivian's rendition of the night Catalina had recommended Nicolae.

The story had become exaggerated over time, and she couldn't really blame Vivian for that. It was Cati herself who had, lifetimes ago, been quite an embellisher of the truth. The latest version of the story had involved her storming out of a dinner party of one hundred guests, refusing to eat ever again until her father agreed to give Nicolae the chance he deserved. She'd claimed to have fasted for a week before her father had consented to hire him.

The truth was much less dramatic, as is usually the case.

_End of Chapter 20. Thanks as always to everyone for reading and to Myrkin for reviewing! Tune in on June 16__th__ where I endeavor to understand Romanian politics!_


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N – A nice long chapter, which I hope will make up for it being a few days late. Thanks everyone for reading and thanks Myrkin for rejoicing! ;)_

_Disclaimer: Although I spent my two-week break engrossing myself in the political climate of Romania (Don't judge my nerdiness—Jesus says no judging!), I still emerged with absolutely no clue as to how political decisions are actually made. So I've likely taken some artistic liberties in the chapter below. The background is based on true events; however, the election in question and any characters associated with it are entirely fictional._

Chapter 21 – A Political Party

"A coma?"

"That's a damned shame."

"I know. He was probably the best chance we had."

Cati had been only half-listening to the dinner conversation, but this exchange caught her attention. She'd been seventeen at the time, sitting at the table surrounded by her family and half a dozen of her father's colleagues. To Cati's left there was Mileu, a short stocky man with silver hair, his wife, and their two snotty boys who were a few years younger than Val. Across from Mileu sat Saguna, a cheerful man with a stubby beard that he had a habit of stroking whenever he was thinking, and his sour-faced wife who always seemed to be sticking her nose in the air. There were likely a few more people present, but these were the ones that would stand out in Catalina's memory years later.

As a teenager, Cati always threw the obligatory fuss when asked to attend these little dinner parties. She would stomp about and roll her eyes, arguing that she had better things to do. But her parents always won. Secretly she always let them win.

"I heard about a boy who was in a coma," piped Val from her seat. "For a hundred years. They put him in a vault, but then they forgot about him, and he had to dig his way out with nothing but a spoon!"

"Val, stop making up stories," chided Lucy, and Val frowned down at the white napkin in her lap. Cati always liked Val's stories. As soon as her mother's back was turned, Cati nudged her little sister.

"It was nice of them to give him a spoon to dig himself out with, or he'd have been stuck forever," she whispered.

The frown vanished from Val's face and she giggled. Satisfied that she had made Val smile, Cati turned her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Who's in a coma?" asked Cati eagerly.

"Petrescu's campaign manager," her father told her. Cati understood immediately why they were so upset. Cati had never met the campaign manager, but he was supposed to be brilliant. He needed to be. It was only a local election, but a lot was riding on its success. In the decade following the revolution, the Pavenics' party had arisen as the clear victor in all of the races. For several years, the party had coasted on that success. Now, for the first time, the current president had been elected by the opposing party, while their party was slowly but steadily losing supporters. This particular campaign manager had been brought on for the upcoming election when it became clear that Petrescu's poll results were distressingly low.

(As it would turn out, they needn't have worried; the next year would bring a series of miner's strikes that the president would respond to with unnecessary violence, causing an outcry that would come to restore the former president to his place. But that was a year from now. Today Petrescu's poor poll results were the latest in a string of failures, and the effective loss of his campaign manager-whose expertise everyone had been counting on to turn things around-was a devastating blow.)

Cati only knew fragments of facts about the election, mostly things she had picked up at dinner parties like this one where she and Val were brought along to play the role of perfect children in a perfect family. Despite having grown up around business and politics, the topics bored her. The only time she ever paid close attention was when Nicolae talked about them—then the subjects seemed to come alive, imbued by the fervor in his voice, and she could listen to him go on for hours about the theories of Locke and Montesquieu and Machiavelli.

That didn't really count. Nicolae could make a pile of dirt sound interesting. But an important public figure in a coma? _That _was interesting all on its own.

"What happened to him?" pressed Cati.

"A train accident," answered Saguna unhappily. "Though how we'll find a decent replacement this far into the race..."

"What about Kobori?" suggested her father. "Remember how he handled Butacu's campaign…"

They went on to talk about some campaign or another from several years ago. Cati let her attention wander again. She secretly liked being included at these dinners-it gave her a rare opportunity to talk with her parents. She just wished their interactions weren't always due to something political.

It hadn't always been all politics, not before the Revolution. She remembered being five or six years old and her father taking her to an air show in Bucharest. They had split a bag of salted nuts between them, and he had let her sit on his shoulders during the whole show so that she could be as close as possible to the IAR99s soaring above them. And she remembered helping her mother make mititei, painstakingly kneading the minced ingredients together in a bowl, her hands childishly mimicking the practiced way her mother rounded the mixture into oval-shaped patties. They would set them on the grill and watch them sizzle until the whole house was full of the aroma of garlic, beef, and onion.

Those were memories from before the Carpathia's untimely deaths had inspired Emil and Lucy to take up the revolutionary mantel left them by their departed friends. Cati had long ago resigned herself to the fact that memories of quality time spent with her parents were just that—memories. Of a time before money and fame had complicated things. She knew she had lost her father to the public sphere, to making business deals and campaigning for positions and arguing loudly against the opposing political party which was (according to both her father and Nicolae) full of nothing but idiots and assholes. Lucy, meanwhile, supported her husband's efforts by attending every public forum, every speech, every debate. She seemed to have a hand in every organization possible; Women for Education, Women for Democracy, Women for Romania, the list went on and on.

Cati would never say so to her parents' faces, but she had often suspected that their obsessive devotion to their country was not so much patriotism as guilt, some gnawing suspicion that they could have stopped the Carpathias from dying if only they had gotten involved earlier. Cati knew this was not the case. If they had gone to Timisoara they might have been taken by the same round of bullets that wiped out Nicolae's parents. But she had long ago learned that disagreement was futile.

Val nudged Cati and indicated that she should pass the mashed potatoes down to their mother. The conversation was still on Petrescu and his comatose campaign manager. Cati handed the steaming potatoes to Lucy, who thanked her briefly before turning back to the rest of the table. "You don't think he'll have to drop out of the race, do you?" Lucy was saying anxiously.

"It's hard to see what other options we have at this point," Mileu said. "We don't have all the details yet, but I don't see how we'll come back from this."

Emil nodded. "It would be next to impossible to find someone who could save this race in what little time there is left. No one who hasn't been involved already would know the ins and outs of the situation, would be able to gauge what needs to be done to shift public opinion-"

"No one but Nicolae, maybe," Cati joked, which elicited a few chuckles. All of her father's colleagues knew who Nicolae was. They spoke with him at the Pavenic Christmas parties every year, and every year they left shaking their heads in amazement and swearing that boy had a future in politics.

"You mean Nicolae Carpathia?" her father said, frowning. "He's awfully young, isn't he?"

Cati scowled and opened her mouth to protest that she had been only joking. Then she stopped. Why _couldn't _Nicolae do it? Could she think of anyone better suited for the position? Now that it had occurred to her, the solution seemed so obvious.

"What does it matter how old he is? You need someone who knows what they're doing, and there's no denying that Nicolae Carpathia is brilliant," she said so ardently that several of the other members of the table stared at her incredulously. She blushed at the attention but plunged on. Nicolae had helped her with something important recently, and now that she'd found a way to return the favor, she was determined to see it through. "You know he's been following the election obsessively-he probably knows more about it than half the people in this room. He can plan and strategize, he's won all sorts of awards—"

"There's a difference between winning awards in high school and a real world campaign," said Emil patiently.

"He was the youngest ever president of the Young Humanists, and membership tripled under his leadership," she said pointedly. The rest of the table had definitely gone quiet, but far from looking offended at her audacity, they regarded her with interest. She couldn't believe that she was sitting here, arguing with a table full of some of the most influential people in Romania, and they were actually listening to her. "You've all met him at Christmas. You've heard him speak. You know what he's like. Is there anyone in this room who thinks Nicolae Carpathia couldn't turn this thing around in a second?"

The table fell completely silent.

Saguna stroked his stubby beard. "He probably does know more about it than half the people in this room," he said.

"Well, it's an unusual idea," Emil sighed, "but it's an idea. I'll consider it. I hope you're right, Cati." And that was that. Cati knew by his tone that it was a done deal.

Cati had beamed, as pleased by her father's acceptance as the chance to help her friend. She'd been right, of course. She'd been more than right. With Nicolae on his side, Petrescu's popularity had soared, and he'd won the election by a mile.

"It was amazing," she overheard Emil telling Lucy some months later. "I can't tell if the public was voting for Petrescu or for Nicolae. He's incredible. His ideas are already turning the tide for the whole country."

"The whole country?" Cati interrupted, puzzled. "I thought it was just a local election."

"Yes," her father said quickly. "Yes, that's what I meant." He cleared his throat and became very interested in his cup of coffee. She would find out exactly what he meant several months later. "Well, anyway," he concluded lamely, "Nicolae was a good choice."

Her father had not been alone in this assessment. Everyone had lauded her recommendation—they unanimously agreed that Nicolae had been the best man for the job. The city and, later, the country had truly done well under his guidance.

Mostly. There _was_ the one thing Nicolae had confided in her the summer following Petrescu's election... but... no. Catalina shook her head. Even that had worked out for the best.

The elevator jolted to a stop at the ground floor of the Palace. The doors fell open on an empty hallway, then closed again. Catalina punched the topmost button and felt the floor lift and settle beneath her as the elevator dragged her back up towards the top of the building. She relaxed against the wall, turning her face away from the accusatory gaze of her reflection.

The bitter truth was that Catalina wanted to be proud of her role in Nicolae's rise to power. Up until two years ago, when she became a Christian and found out who he was, she had been proud. Sometimes she would still see him on TV, standing behind a podium surrounded by flashing cameras, looking regal but personable, turning the hearts of the world with his words, and despite herself she'd feel a swell of happiness. She wished that she could still be proud of having helped him.

Then she'd remembered that she hadn't helped him at all. Far from it. She had sent him straight into the devil's hands. Many times she'd tried to tell herself that a brilliant mind like his could not have remained hidden forever, that Nicolae would have been thrust into power regardless of whether or not she had gotten involved.

But she had gotten involved. She couldn't change that fact. She'd given the world its Antichrist.

The gold-tinged doors surprised Catalina by popping open when she was still a good distance from the top floor. Catalina hadn't realized that this elevator opened to the public. She'd had it in her head that it was a private elevator for the dining room. Apparently not.

Two men and a woman stood waiting. The men stepped onto the elevator and stood in silence, not giving Catalina a second glance. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, with high cheek bones and cropped black hair. She started to smile at Catalina as she stepped on. Then she froze, still standing in the middle of the open doorway. Catalina could see why she froze; the cross-shaped mark of a believer stood out vividly on her forehead. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Corporal Christopher," said the older man tersely, "we don't have all day."

"Sorry, Sergeant," said Corporal Christopher quickly, stepping into the elevator and allowing the doors to close. "For a second you looked like someone I know," she said to Catalina as they ascended.

"Happens all the time," Catalina fibbed. She wondered if she should say something else, but the doors opened again and Corporal Christopher and her two companions stepped off as quickly as they had arrived.

_My deepest gratitude as always for your time and attention! I hope I have given you some lovely new things to digest. Friendly comments/critiques welcome as always. Until July 2nd! :)  
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	22. Chapter 22

22 – A Difference of Opinions

**Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. -Isaiah 40:31**

Catalina recited this verse to herself for the remainder of the ride. It was one of her favorites. She liked the idea of God lifting you up to soar like an eagle through the air. It was one thing to approach the skies from within a metal machine, but to fly free with the wind on your face, droplets of clouds touching your skin? That was something people could never achieve without God's help.

Or perhaps they might have achieved it had the world been given more than three years to live.

She sometimes wondered whether the human race had angered God by discovering the secret of flight. Centuries ago in the city of Babel, the people had built a great tower in hopes of touching the heavens. But God had grown angry at their hubris. He divided the builders among themselves so that the tower was never finished. In time it began to decay and crumble; eventually it was destroyed. Was it a coincidence that a mere century after the discovery of flight, now that men were not only touching the heavens but navigating them as well, God decided to destroy the world? Maybe human ingenuity had undone itself. Maybe God wanted to keep the skies for himself.

That sounded silly in her head. The God she had almost believed in when she was sixteen wouldn't do such a petty thing. But the God she believed in now? She wasn't sure.

Somewhere above her head the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Catalina had reached the top floor and so stepped out into the hallway. She'd half-expected to run into Nicolae on the way up, but no. He had not yet returned from his urgent call. She supposed that was a good thing. What did you say to the Antichrist in an elevator. _Hey Nicolae, how's it going? Steal any good souls lately?_

Not that Nicolae stole souls. At least not intentionally.

Back in the dining room, Vivian, Suhail, and Leon were chatting away like old friends. Hickman was on what appeared to be his third full course of food, judging by the two empty platters in front of him. Vivian noticed Cati at the door and waved her over.

"Just in time," she said cheerfully as Catalina sat down. "I told them the whole story."

"I was most impressed," said Leon, "by how you fasted on bread and water for two weeks! What devotion!"

"It was nothing," said Catalina. "Really."

"Nothing!" Vivian shook her head wonderingly. "It's like I told you, Supreme Commander, she and Nicolae always had modesty in common."

She was as modest as the Antichrist? High praise indeed.

Then again, Nicolae used to be modest, thought Catalina. He hadn't struck her as all that modest today.

"Such humility is incredible given all His Excellency has accomplished," Leon gushed, "and all he can do! I have the feeling that we've only seen the beginning of his talents. You've heard my testimony about the earthquake, naturally," he added to Catalina.

Cati nodded, though she felt chilled at the thought. Everyone had heard Leon's testimony. When the Great Earthquake hit New Babylon two years ago, Nicolae had barely escaped by reaching the helipad on the roof. Leon had not escaped at all. He'd fallen several dozen stories before being crushed by the debris of the crumbling building. Dead by all accounts. When Nicolae discovered that his friend had been left behind in the confusion, he had stormed back into the rubble and called out, "Leonardo, come forth!" Sure enough, the man had emerged without a scratch. A modern-day Lazarus.

"You were very lucky," Catalina said carefully.

"Luck had nothing to do with it." Leon smiled beatifically. "Some may think I'm crazy, but I truly believe that His Excellency is a god. Perhaps _the _God!"

"I wouldn't doubt it!" said Vivian "Why, I knew from the moment I met him that there was something special about him. The first time I ever read that boy's fortune, the cards practically screamed it."

Catalina kept her lips tightly shut. It was an unwritten rule that you didn't lie about your belief in God, and you certainly didn't lie about whether or not you thought the Antichrist was a god. Not even to save your life. There were exceptions, obviously (the Trib Force spies must have lied about it to make it past security) but only for extreme cases. She doubted her case counted as extreme. Catalina averted her eyes to her plate, busily nudging a few asparagus shoots with her cherub-decked spoon. As long as no one asked for her opinion, she wouldn't have to say anything.

"Don't you agree, Cati?" added Vivian.

_Damn it._

"Um..." said Catalina, and it was the longest syllable she had ever uttered in her life. The whole table was staring at her expectantly again. _Pentru Dumnezeu! _Why did they keep doing that? She had no idea what to say.

_When in doubt, tell the truth._

The words popped unbidden into her head. Someone had said them to her once when she was young. She couldn't remember who, or when, but they were sound enough advice, and she had no other options. She mustered up a sheepish smile.

"It seems I'm out-numbered," Catalina admitted. "If you said that Nicolae is exceptional, I'd agree with you completely. But divine? I think that's a bit of a stretch."

"A stretch?" Leon echoed, crestfallen. "He brought me back from the dead. What more proof do you want?"

"Are you sure you didn't just hit your head?" she insisted. "And Nicolae woke you up?" She had every confidence that Leon _had _died and been resurrected. But it was better to play the skeptic than confess the real reason she did not think Nicolae divine.

Leon drew himself up indignantly. "Miss Pavenic," he said, "you only believe what you've seen, but there is something to be said for those who haven't seen but still believe. Who are you to doubt my story? As I recall, I was there, and you were not."

_La naiba! _Now she had pissed off the Antichrist's right-hand man. This day was getting better and better. "I'm sorry!" said Catalina. "I didn't mean to offend. I only meant…" What had she meant? She racked her brain for a response, preferably one that wouldn't get her killed.

"I hope, Supreme Commander, you have not been antagonizing our guest," said Nicolae, appearing like a shadow in the dining room doorway. Catalina had forgotten the impact even a few of his words could have; the air grew silent save for his golden voice, which spilled across the room like honey overflowing from a cup. The effect was somewhat breath-taking.

"You will have to forgive Leonardo his manners, Cati," Nicolae said. He made his way gracefully back to his seat at the head of the table. "The Supreme Commander can be very protective of me, a quality that I appreciate, of course…" At these words she noticed Leon's sullen expression soften, mollified by the compliment. "…but one for which there is a time and a place. This is neither the time nor the place."

"It was just a small misunderstanding," she started to assure Nicolae, but Leon apparently wasn't done with her, for he cleared his throat importantly.

"Perhaps, ah, Your Excellency was not privy to the entire conversation?" he said politely. "_I_ was merely telling Miss Pavenic the story of my resurrection. _She_ does not seem to think such things are possible."

"Yes," said Nicolae calmly. "I surmised as much."

Clearly baffled by Nicolae's nonchalance, Leon turned helplessly back to Catalina.

"I don't understand," he pressed with a note of desperation in his voice, as if he really were trying to understand. "You grew up side-by-side with His Excellency. And yet you mean to tell me you never witnessed anything extraordinary?"

"Nothing that convinced me he was more than human," said Catalina firmly. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Fortunato."

Through her peripheral vision, she peeked at Nicolae. She could tell he was studying her. His head was tilted slightly to the side, a slender finger pressed to his full lips, blue eyes alight with curiosity. No doubt he was trying to figure out why she'd just lied to Leon. _It wasn't a lie,_ she told herself. Sure, she had seen some pretty extraordinary things, but they hadn't convinced her of anything. She pretended to turn her attention back to the asparagus on her plate, but even then she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. She swallowed nervously. Was he disappointed? Annoyed? Angry? What did the Antichrist do to people who angered him?

But when she looked back at his face, Nicolae's expression was one of mild amusement. He simply shook his head, a slight smile playing on his lips, before returning his attention to the rest of the table.

"Well," Nicolae said warmly, "I suggest we not press the subject further, as it is clear everyone has different opinions on the matter. Let us not forget that our ability to coexist despite dissimilar worldviews is the very foundation of a peaceful society. It is the heart of tolerance. We must be careful that our differences do not divide us. As such, there is no need to shove our beliefs down one another's throats.

"After all," he joked, "we are not Judahites." That broke the tension, and everyone at the table laughed, even Leon. Catalina forced a polite smile.

_A/N - Thanks again everyone for reading and Myrkin for the splendiferous review! July 16th I will be on vacay, so the post may be a few days off, but it will be there. In the meantime, Happy 4th of July all! :)_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23 – A Surprise**

The luncheon ended with no more mishaps. There was a clatter of plates and silverware as six people set their things aside and rose to their feet. Nicolae ushered Catalina to his side.

"If you will follow me downstairs," he said, "there is someone waiting to meet you."

The surprise! Despite the strange morning, she found herself thrilled over the promise of it—though that feeling may have been more due to Nicolae's hand touching her arm, guiding her towards the elevator. Her stomach began to flip like a 737 performing barrel rolls.

She was tempted to read something into his touch, but she knew better. It was simply Nicolae's habit to physically move people in the direction he wanted them to go. His influence was always subtle, never intrusive—a friendly pat on the back or a hand on the shoulder. More of an invitation to follow than a demand. It was one of those little things she had forgotten about him.

Still, she loved how easily his hand rested against her arm, as if it belonged there. A wave of warmth spread over her, a feeling that was simultaneously soothing and exhilarating. She glanced at him quickly, hoping he didn't notice the effect he was having on her.

He didn't.

He never did.

For once, she was glad about that.

Nicolae withdrew his hand once they reached the elevator, and she concealed her disappointment. The group descended to the ground floor and crossed several hallways. She hadn't realized how big the palace was until now. Vivian started to apologize for the length of the trip, explaining that they had to cut through another wing in order to get to the-

Nicolae cut her off, saying she would spoil the surprise.

In fact, Catalina found she didn't mind the long walk. It gave her an excuse to see more of the Palace. They passed maids pushing carts of freshly laundered sheets to the living quarters, directors in dark suits barking orders into their cell phones (and then snapping the phones shut in order to attentively greet His Excellency), interns bustling by with steaming cups of Starbucks coffee in tow. Catalina was happy to hear Vivian say there was a Starbucks on the first floor.

Fortunato, Hickman, and Akbar tagged along behind. It was mildly annoying, trying to catch up with people she had not seen in years when the three lackeys were hanging on their every word. Nicolae appeared used to it. He talked to Catalina as if they weren't there, pointing out notable sites and people as they passed. Catalina liked listening to him talk. His voice had a rhythmic, soothing texture to it, like the sound of waves rushing onto the sand and back to the sea. The flow of conversation was interrupted only by the meeting of the occasional Director; each one would abruptly stop whatever he was doing to acknowledge Nicolae with a nod so deep it was almost a bow. Nicolae would offer a brief nod in return. As soon they were out of site, Nicolae would grin at Catalina, as if this were a joke she was supposed to be in on.

Catalina looked away.

Following Nicolae down the gleaming black hallways, watching the men in suits kow tow as they went by, it reminded her a lot of high school. God, when was the last time she had thought of high school? She thought of walking down the school halls beside him and Paul, the little entourage of people they called friends trailing behind them like the faded tail of a blazing comet. Or perhaps a better analogy, thought Catalina, would be one of rays extending out from a blinding sun, since the rest of the school had orbited around the three of them like planets circling a star, watching awestruck from a distance, admiring but too intimidated to get close. Was she sorry she'd given that up? The admiration, the money, the games they use to play...

No. She was glad she'd left them behind. Those things came with a price.

Their journey through the Palace took them down a set of stairs into a tunnel with no windows. Catalina hated being underground. It felt so confined down here, away from the open air. The walls were sterile and white, like the halls of a hospital. For one uncomfortable moment, she wondered if she was to be trapped down here—maybe Nicolae had figured her out somehow, maybe this whole gala invitation had been a ruse to lure her to the Palace and imprison her—but no, in a minute they reached a door at the end of the tunnel and Hickman swung it open.

"Here we are," Nicolae said proudly. Catalina peered through the doorway and clapped a hand over her mouth.

She had seen pictures, but pictures were pale imitations of the gleaming behemoth in front of her. The Phoenix 216 was a 747-400, and it was a beauty. Every inch of the gargantuan aircraft—from the sleek swept wings to the four cylindrical engines to the artfully curved nose—had been polished to perfection. Light glinted off of its sides, bringing to mind the slippery sheen of a dolphin sunning itself.

Between her and the Phoenix, a vast airplane hangar bustled with activity. Catalina stepped through the doorway into the hangar. As the first one into the room, her presence did little to disrupt the flow of people going about their daily routines. Then Nicolae stepped through the door behind her. The activity stopped. A reverent hush fell over the crowd. For a second it was like stepping into a church.

Then the silence broke as a buzz of excitement rippled through the room. Those closest to them offered enthusiastic greetings to their potentate; those who were not nearby exchanged thrilled whispers. Catalina kept her head high but avoided all eye contact. There had been a time when she'd enjoyed being the center of attention like this, but that had been worlds ago.

Nicolae, it seemed, still relished the attention. He strode across the room like he owned it (which he did). The rest of the entourage quickly followed suit. The crowd kept a respectful distance, though Catalina noticed more than a few people trying to get a good look at her face, wondering who she was. A few cell phones appeared in the air, cameras flashing, but Nicolae shot a displeased look at one culprit, and the others quickly disappeared. She was grateful. The last thing she wanted was for her face to be plastered all over the news.

About halfway across the hangar, Catalina noticed a pair of men in pilot's uniforms. It was all she could do not to immediately do a double-take—both men had the mark of a Believer on their foreheads. They nodded politely as she and Nicolae passed. She wasn't sure whether they could see her mark from where they were standing.

That raised the total number of believers at New Babylon to four. But where had they come from? Why were they here? Did they know they had company in the persons of the young director and the woman from the elevator?

She didn't have time to dwell on it. A man standing beneath the cockpit waved them over, and Nicolae wasted no time in introducing Catalina to Mr. Albert Khalil, the Director of Aviation at New Babylon. Khalil was a lanky black man in his mid 50's. He had white hair that seemed to hover about his head like a cloud.

He was also, after a few minutes of conversation, the first person that Catalina had met at New Babylon that she didn't dislike. She suspected that her endearment towards Khalil came from the fact that he was too caught up in his enthusiasm over the aviation program to join in the games of showering compliments on Nicolae. In fact, when Leon tried to laud His Excellency for choosing the 747-400 as the model of the Phoenix, Khalil politely pointed out that it was Peter II who had overseen the design of this plane, since it had originally been intended for him. Leon mumbled something about how His Excellency had improved on Peter II's design and looked so despondent at being shot down that Catalina momentarily felt sorry for him.

"For a man who prizes his comfort as much as Peter II supposedly does," she said, "I'm surprised he chose the 747 over the 787 Dreamliner." The Dreamliner, a Boeing jetliner that had come out several years ago, was supposed to be superior in terms of luxury and style. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he had no clue what he was doing."

Nicolae beamed at her. She realized that in whatever competition he and Matthews seemed to be in, she had scored him a point. She hadn't meant to join in on the compliments—still, if she ignored the whole Antichrist thing, it did feel kind of good. She half-smiled back at him.

Khalil laughed. "I like your friend, Excellency," he said. "She knows what she's talking about. The 787 Dreamliner is certainly the wave of the future," he added to Catalina. "The next Global Community One will be a 787-10. You'll see its debut within four years."

Four years. With the Second Coming only three-and-a-half years away. As Khalil went on with glowing pride about the projected future of the aviation industry, Catalina felt a familiar pang. Nostalgia, perhaps, not for what was but for what could have been. She still heard confident forecasts about the future from time to time. Mostly environmental PSAs, GC propaganda, or those "Imagine Tomorrow" commercials where computer companies predicted the next wave of technologies. There was something bittersweet in hearing people talk about the future anymore. Like watching children build sand castles while the tide washes in around them.

"Well," Khalil said, "should we get underway?"

"Underway?" said Catalina. She had been under the impression that this was the extent of her surprise.

"Director Khalil will be treating you to a personal tour of the Phoenix 216," said Nicolae.

Catalina was speechless. A glimpse of the Phoenix would have been enough, but a personal tour? Almost no one outside of His Excellency's most trusted staff was allowed inside the plane. This was unexpected, and far better than she had dared to hope for.

Nicolae grinned. "I told you you would like it."

"You didn't have to do this," she said. "Your Ex- Nicolae- this is too much."

"This is nothing." He waved away her protests as the group followed Khalil up the ramp and into the shining aircraft.

It was far from nothing. The next hour was perhaps the closest thing to heaven on earth that she would see before... well, before heaven literally came down to earth. Catalina could hardly believe her luck. She had watched virtual tours of Air Force One, on which the Global Community One was based, but the GC One was much grander, the inside of the plane gleaming as much as the outside. They explored the boardroom, the dining room, the gym. She was allowed a peek into the main office, all plush carpets and mahogany furniture, which looked to be at least the size of her suite back in the Palace. Two kitchens, each stocked with enough food to feed an army for a week. They spent some time examining the cockpit while Khalil talked about the Condor 216 and explained all of the advances that set this aircraft apart from its predecessor.

It wasn't exactly a personal tour. Nicolae and the rest of the entourage went along as well, which meant she had to endure Leon's comments, all variations on "What does this shiny doohickey do? Is that it? I'm sure His Excellency could design something that would do it better." Even sitting through Leon's sycophantry was worth it. Everything else was perfect.

Too soon, Director Khalil announced that the tour was complete, and they would now return to the hangar outside. At the foot of the ramp, they paused for goodbyes, and she thanked Khalil for the tour.

"It was my pleasure," he said. "I hope you'll come back again sometime."

"I will," she said, although she knew that it would be impossible. She could never come back here during the second half of the Tribulation. She would probably never see the Phoenix again. No matter how optimistic Khalil might be, in three and a half years' time it would be ground to dust, obliterated for the glory of God.

Is this what it felt like for the people of Babel? Catalina wondered. Seeing their tower about to crumble, knowing that their fingertips had scraped the heavens for the last time?

With a final wave goodbye, she turned and walked with the entourage back through the busy hangar. Nicolae waved her forward, indicating that she should walk beside him.

"You enjoyed the tour," he said when she was at his side. It was more of an assessment than a question.

"I did."

"Good." He nodded approvingly. "Before you return to your room, I wish to speak with you for a moment. If you would not mind accompanying me to my office."

"Of course not," she said. He was so polite about it, it was hard to decline. Still, she couldn't help but wonder what the consequences would have been if she'd said no.

_A/N - __**In Which I Explain That I Am Still Alive if Hopelessly Flaky**_

_So … I figure now is as good a time as any to apologize for flaking last summer and to attempt to offer an explanation, of which there really isn't one. Over the course of__ the past six months, my life has gone through a lot of unexpected changes (good ones!), __and eventually I sort of realized I need to be focusing on those things right now.__ I'm sorry I left you guys hanging. I should have said something before I left. I guess I kept hoping I could start regularly updating again...but I finally have to accept that the real world is just getting in the way right now (silly real world).  
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_There's one more chapter before the end of Part 2 (out of 7 parts) and then it's time for me to officially go on hiatus (as opposed to just up and disappearing like I did). I'm going to continue to work on this story at my own pace, but when I come back there's a good chance I will move it to fiction press or some variant thereof. Because, well… I sort of realized that I really don't like Left Behind, and I'd much rather write a rip-off where I'm free to change the things I dislike. Don't worry-it will be pretty much the same story but with names and details changed. (And it's ok; I learned in my copyright class last summer that this is totally mostly legal. Probably.) _

_So anyway, barring death and/or apocalypse, I'll come back. And I hope you'll be here when I do, because there will be awesome things like:_

_- spies_

_- demons_

_- assassins_

_- drunken popes_

_- dinner parties_

_- supermodels_

_- violence _

_- sex_

_- blasphemy_

_- blasphemous sex_

_- violent sex?_

_- me learning how to change the rating to M_

_So stick around for the end of part 2 which will come soon, and then hiatus!_


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